


Making The Grade

by KyloTrashForever



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Aural Kink, Awkward Boners, Bartender Rey, Cock Worship, Coitus Interruptus, Desk Sex, Door Sex, F/M, First Time Blow Jobs, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, Horniness, Instructional Oral, Loss of Virginity, Pierced Rey, Power Imbalance, Praise Kink, Professor Ben Solo, Secret Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Tattooed Rey, Teacher-Student Relationship, Touch-Starved, Uncircumcised Ben, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, Virgin Ben Solo, student rey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:34:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23455594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyloTrashForever/pseuds/KyloTrashForever
Summary: There are upwards of one hundred students filed in the ascending rows that fill the lecture hall—but Ben’s eyes are fixed only on one.He can still hear her voice in his ear, breathy and soft as it urges him tocome, Ben, you can come—still feel the way she’d touched him, recall the trembling in his skin when her fingers had teased the sticky mess he’d made of his stomach after. Because forty-eight hours ago, Rey Johnson made him come.And now he’s realizing she’ll never be able to again.In which Ben thinks Rey is off limits, but Rey has other ideas.***ON INDEFINITE HIATUS***
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 1040
Kudos: 1731





	1. Guess We’re Having A Sleepover

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skerft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skerft/gifts).



> OH, HELLO THERE.
> 
> As of this moment, I now have ONE HUNDRED FICS. I started writing for this fandom two years ago, and I never expected to still be doing it by now, but these horny space wizards have given me the time of my life. I love EVERY ONE that I have met because of them. ❤️ 
> 
> In case you missed it on Twitter, I did a poll-a-palooza in a _choose your own adventure_ type prompt scenario to celebrate the occasion, and THIS was the final resulted prompt!  
>  __  
>  **SOFT BUT HORNY VIRGIN PROFESSOR Ben Solo and FERAL STUDENT/BARTENDER Rey Johnson featuring AGAINST THE WALL SEX, COCK WORSHIP, UNCIRCUMCISED BEN with tags: TOUCH-STARVED and PRAISE KINK.**  
>  Guys. This is just... tropes galore, but here’s hoping we have some fun on the way! ❤️
> 
> I am gifting to Simone, because today is an even greater event (eg. HER BIRTHDAY), and it seems more than fitting that I would gift my 100th fic to the person who’s been there since almost my very first. ❤️ I love you, Simone! I hope this is everything your succubus heart could ever want!  
> 

She notices him when he first stumbles into the bar. 

He’s wet; the hem of his jeans are absolutely drenched, and the jacket draped over his head is not much better off. She finds the stiff fabric puzzling, the hatched pattern covering every part she can see and bleeding down the sleeves to give way to… Are those _elbow_ patches?

She doesn’t recognize him, not that this is unusual, it’s a big town, after all—but there has gotten to be a certain set of regulars in and out of her bar on the weekends, and _this_ man is definitely not one of them. 

She feels herself smiling as he wipes his feet off on the old rug, seeming to be grumbling under his breath as he assesses the state of his jacket before shrugging back into it. It’s been pouring all day, the sudden downpour something that isn’t exactly uncommon for Tampa Bay, but usually Floridians are well prepared for the unpredictability of the rain here. This fellow, Mr. Tall, Wet, and Handsome (she thinks, at least, hard to tell from here), looks very much _unprepared_. 

She watches him glance around the bar with a wary expression, sticking out amongst the grizzled regulars like a sore thumb. She thinks to herself that he looks like he’d be more comfortable over the bridge. Maybe St. Petersburg. Plenty of well-put-togethers that way. She turns her back when he seems to linger at the entryway in a daze, assuming he’ll amble over when and if he needs her. 

Strangely enough, she sort of hopes he does. 

She’s working on her newest blend when she hears the stool scoot backwards behind her, hears him settle at the bar and clear his throat, and she smiles to herself as she notes his overly-polite tone when he says, “Excuse me.”

“Be with you in a sec,” she tosses over her shoulder, still curious as to what someone like him is even doing here in the first place. 

She holds the shaker high when she finally turns, finding him much broader up close, briefly taking in his dark-framed glasses situated beneath an even darker mop of hair that seems mussed as if he’s been running his fingers through it. His nose is sort of too long for his face, but she finds that she likes the strong line of it. In her experience a strong nose is the sign of a skilled tongue, in a manner of speaking. His mouth is full and soft and _pink_ for a man, but she likes that too. It offsets the overpowering quality of his other features. 

He watches her with slightly wide eyes (dark, even beneath his glasses they look _so dark_ ) as she gives the canister a shake, and she won’t pretend that she doesn’t enjoy the way he’s looking at her—mouth slightly parted and eyes flicking down the length of her, almost like he’s forgotten how to speak. 

He’s kind of adorable, for a weirdo in tweed. It almost makes her want to tease him a little. 

She reaches under the bar to grab an empty cocktail glass, setting it in front of him as she opens the shaker to pour out her would-be new menu item. “You look like a good guinea pig.”

His mouth turns down at the corners, peeking around briefly before raising a finger to point at himself. “Me?”

“Well, yeah.” Her lips quirk, making an over-exaggerated show of looking down both ends of the empty bar beyond him. “You see anyone else?”

“I—” He looks down at the glass in front of him to frown down at the amber liquid. “You want me to try this?”

“Just tell me if you think it needs more lime.”

He almost looks like he might refuse, and perhaps it briefly crosses his mind, but after a handful of seconds, he reaches dutifully to wrap his fingers around the small glass, lifting it up to let his nose rest over the mouth and inhaling the scent of it. 

It’s sort of mind-boggling, how utterly _small_ he makes the perfectly normal-sized cocktail glass seem; his fingers are long enough and thick enough to bring about all sorts of different trains of thought in Rey’s mind, nearly all of them sordid. He looks up to meet her gaze as he takes a slow, experimental sip. His mouth against the rim is almost sinful, making it seem fuller, making her imagine it tasting something else. He smacks his lips after, assessing for a moment, turning his head back and forth thoughtfully before setting it back down on the bar.

“Maybe a little?”

She frowns, briefly shoving aside her hornier thoughts and snatching the glass away to bring it to her lips, and she can’t help but think about the fact that his own mouth had rested there just moments before. He has such a nice mouth, after all.

She takes a much larger drink than he indulged in, swishing the liquid around in her mouth briefly before swallowing it down and nodding.

“Yeah,” she tells him. “I think you’re right.” She sets the glass back down, giving him more of her attention now, still sort of enjoying the way he kind of gapes at her. “Anyway. What can I get you?”

“Actually, I—” He seems distracted by her shoulders, and she knows he can probably see the peek of her thin, black bra strap that has a penchant for sliding out from underneath the band of the thin sleeve. She pointedly makes no move to correct it. “I just needed some directions,” he manages finally. “I’m lost.”

She lets her eyes move over the collar of his button down, over the shoulders of his tweed jacket and lower—one eyebrow raised high in amusement. “Yeah,” she laughs. “You look lost.”

His brow knits, but he ignores her teasing. “I just moved here a few days ago, and I was out just driving around, and with the rain…” He presses his lips together briefly. “Anyway. Yeah.”

“Where do you live?”

“Riverview?”

She grimaces. “Yeah. You definitely went a little further than you meant to, probably. You’re technically in Brandon.”

“Of course.” He shakes his head. “Left my damned phone on the counter at home.”

She can’t help but laugh a little. “Who leaves their phone at home?”

“I don’t use it often,” he mutters.

She’s beginning to suspect he might actually be a time traveler. “You don’t use your phone often?”

“No?”

“Wow,” she chuckles. “That’s so weird.”

His lips purse in an indignant expression, and she knows she’s probably coming across like an asshole, but it’s just that she really does find him incredibly _adorable._

“What's your address?”

“It’s…” He frowns. “Shit. I don’t even have it memorized yet. Shady Oaks Lofts?”

She smiles despite herself. “Wow, someone’s fancy.”

“Oh.” His brow furrows, averting his eyes like he’s embarrassed. “I didn’t even pick the place myself. My mother is overbearing, you see.” He closes his eyes with a groan. “Not that I listen to _everything_ my mother says. I’m not—”

Rey laughs at his flustered tone, finding this new kernel of information more endearing than anything else. “I’m just fucking with you.”

“Oh.” His expression relaxes. “Okay.”

“So you’re about twenty minutes out,” she tells him pointedly. “I could…” Her eyes dart around, looking for a napkin. “I could draw you a map?” She glances out past the other bar-goers towards the lone window that offers view of a still-steady downpour pummeling down outside. “Don’t know if you’ll even be able to see the damn street signs in this, though.” 

“Right.” Ben frowns, following her line of sight.

“You could hang out for a bit?” She gives him a shrug. “Maybe it’ll let up.”

He frowns at the dreary window with a knitted brow. “Maybe.”

“I’m Rey,” she offers, extending her hand. “Rey Johnson.”

He eyes the tattoo at her wrist, reaching slowly to take her hand. “Ben. Ben Solo.”

She flashes him a wide grin, thinking it suits him somehow. “Well, Ben. I guess I’ll have to buy you a drink.”

He doesn’t look like he belongs here, Ben Solo, but he’s a nice shakeup from her normal weekend evenings of bikers and her dad’s old army buddies. She can almost feel his eyes on her from behind her at the bar, and she smiles as she busies herself with mixing him a drink. 

She thinks to herself that he might be the most interesting thing to happen in a long while.

* * *

She can tell he isn’t normally this chatty. She can sense it in the way the tension in his shoulders takes almost a half hour to ease, thinks it’s obvious by the way the first drink goes down slowly, but the next two go a little easier. His voice grows a little more sure with every swallow, and after an hour, they’ve talked about everything and yet absolutely nothing. 

And boy, the way his mouth curves around a glass. 

He might be a sore thumb in tweed, but his _mouth_ speaks of things that require wearing nothing at all.

But still.

“Okay, but—” She reaches across the bar, her fingers teasing at his lapel as his cheeks flush. “You gotta explain the tweed.”

He cocks his head. “What about it?”

“ _It’s tweed,_ ” she laughs.

He frowns as he looks down at his jacket, a bit of a pout at his lips that gives her the urge to nibble there. “You don’t like it?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” she says seriously. “It’s very librarian chic, but maybe a little… old for you?”

He purses his lips. “How old do you think I am?”

“I don’t know… twenty-five?”

He shakes his head. “Twenty-eight.”

“Oh, well in _that_ case.”

She’s smiling at him, and she notices that he’s looking at her mouth with interest, and sure, he’s seven years older than her—but that doesn’t stop her from wondering what he looks like under that button-down. 

“I don’t know,” he tells her with a bit of a shrug. “I guess I grew up and unconsciously became my father.”

“Did he wear tweed too?”

“He was a professor of archaeology,” Ben tells her flippantly, laughing a little. “So it probably fit him a little better than me.”

“I don’t know,” Rey says slyly, taking a sip from her own glass. “It’s sort of growing on me.”

His cheeks flush a little with something she thinks has very little to do with the alcohol, and chews on the inside of his lip briefly before he quickly turns his head as if trying to collect himself. She studies the thick lines of his neck as he looks around, noticing the brightly lit neon sign that boasts the bar’s name. 

“Why Sheev’s?”

“This place used to be my grandpa’s,” she says nonchalantly.

“Used to be?”

She shrugs. “He died when I was like fifteen.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She makes a face. “He was a total dick.”

Ben’s lips curl in a sheepish grin, raising his glass. “Ah, well. Here's to better management.”

“Right.” She flashes him a smile. “May there be nothing but stale beer in hell for dear old Sheev.”

Ben sputters a little even as she downs the rest of her glass, patting his chest with a choked laugh. It takes him a few moments to collect himself, but she catches him looking around again. “Does anyone help you out here?”

“I have a couple other bartenders my dad hired when I can’t be here during the week,” she tells him “But I handle most weekends. I work a little more during the summer. I have more free time then.”

He turns his head to peer behind him at a man whose beard is as eye-catching as the large tattoo on the side of his head—then peeking back at Rey with a wary expression. “So you’re here a lot by yourself?”

“Yeah,” she grins. “Why? Don’t I look like I can take care of myself?”

His eyes sweep down the front of her, swallowing thickly as they linger on the sliver of skin between the hem of her tank top and the edge of her shorts, tearing his eyes away after a handful of moments to look down into his glass instead as he mutters: “Sure you do.”

She notices his glass is nearly empty, and she finds herself not quite wanting him to leave. He’s interesting, Ben Solo. Not to mention the ever-growing desire to take him upstairs that hasn’t manifested for anyone she’s met in months. “Do you want another drink?”

“I should probably hold off.” He makes a face. “Any more, and I won’t be able to drive home.”

_Not a bad idea,_ she thinks. 

She glances back over at the window, clicking her tongue. “It’s really coming down out there.”

“I know,” he grimaces.

“So where did you move from?”

“Hm?” He brings his attention back to her face, and she notices the way his eyes keep dipping to her mouth. She can’t say that she dislikes it. “Oh. Connecticut.”

“Long way.”

“Yeah. It’s an adjustment.” He frowns. “The fucking rain, for one.”

She laughs softly as she takes a sip from her glass. “It’s Florida.”

“Mhm.” His lips form a tight line. “I’m going to have to invest in an entire line of parkas.”

“Probably not a bad idea,” she grins. “But at least that explains your lack of tan.”

He grimaces down at his hand lying flat on the bar, flexing his fingers with a sigh. “I’ve always been a little… pale.”

She can see the slight blush at his cheeks, and her smile widens because: “I sort of like it.” She’s rewarded with a deeper blush, and she can almost bet if she were to reach out and touch him, his skin would be _so warm._ She decides to save him by changing the subject. “So business or pleasure?”

He blinks back at her. “Hm?”

“What brings you here? Business or pleasure?”

“Oh. Business. I got a new job.”

“Do you like it?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I start Monday.”

“How exciting.”

“I guess so.” He’s staring intently at the tattoo across her shoulder that creeps down her arm, studying the colorful array of flowers curiously. “Did that hurt?”

“A little,” she says honestly. She lets her gaze travel down his arm and back up again as she leans to settle on her elbows, propping her chin in her hand. “Do you have any?”

He shakes his head, his fingers curling around the edge of the bar top as if steadying himself. “No.”

“Somehow this doesn’t surprise me,” she chuckles. “I have over a dozen.”

She doesn’t miss the way his throat bobs with a swallow, nor does she miss the way his eyes sweep down her body as if he’s trying to picture where the others might be. He really is just too cute.

“Are they all that”—his gaze flicks to the largest one covering her arm—“big?”

She shakes her head, leaning over the bar top, sort of enjoying the way his breath catches when she holds out her wrist. “I have this one,” she murmurs, running her fingers over the three stacked arrows right under his face. “It’s fairly small.” She reaches to curl her hand around her ribs, turning her body slightly so that he can get a better look. “And a little wrench here.” His eyes follow the path of her hands as if in a trance, watching as she reaches higher to the neckline of her tank top, widening when she pulls it down to reveal the thin line of script just over her heart. “And this one.”

“That’s…” His lips clench together as if he’s searching for the appropriate word. “Neat.”

“Neat,” she echoes, her lips curling. “Right.”

He chews on the inside of his lip for several moments, holding her gaze as if thinking of what to say. He clears his throat when he finally looks away, reaching to adjust his glasses in more of a nervous gesture than anything, she thinks.

“I guess I’m just going to have to chance it,” he mutters. “Doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon.” He sighs resignedly. “Do you still think you could draw me that map?”

“I could.” She nods her head thoughtfully, considering. She thinks it’s probably impulsive, the question on her tongue, but Rey has always been a little impulsive. “Or… I could put you up for the night.”

He blinks several times as if processing what she's just said. “What?”

“You could stay with me,” she clarifies. “It’s getting late after all.”

“Stay… with you?”

“I live upstairs.” She points a finger towards the ceiling. “There’s a little apartment above the bar.”

“An… apartment,” he manages dazedly.

“Mhm.” She shrugs one shoulder. “No sense in running your car off the road in this shit.”

“I….” His mouth opens and closes just to open again. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“It’s no trouble,” she tells him with a wave of her hand. She won’t mention the fact that she might have a bit of an ulterior motive. “It's the least I can do.”

Ben stares back at her for several moments, his gaze wandering from her to the window and back again, seeming to be trying to process her offer. Even this—his slight hesitation, almost as if she intimidates him—is sort of adorable. He really is just so _interesting._

He makes a sound in his throat as if trying to clear it, reaching to fiddle with his glasses as he shrugs aimlessly. “I guess—“ He keeps peeking over at the window as if he’s still trying to weigh his options. “If you’re sure it wouldn’t be a problem—If you really don’t _mind_ —”

“I don’t,” she says quickly, her pulse quickening as she flashes him a grin. “Can you hang out here while I close up?”

He nods dumbly as he gapes back at her, and she reaches to take his glass out from in front of him, raising it in a slight toast as he watches her finish it off with wide eyes. 

“Guess we’re having a sleepover,” she tells him cheerfully.

His answering _guess so_ is almost shaky, and it probably shouldn’t be so endearing, how nervous he seems—but it’s a breath of fresh air compared to all the men she’s dabbled with in recent years. He really is something in his elbow patches and his glasses and his tweed. She has a feeling he’ll be something even more without them. 

She’s sort of hoping she gets to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She’s going to tuck him in real gentle like 🥰


	2. Bed’s Plenty Big Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO CHUGGING RIGHT ALONG INTO TROPESVILLE 😍  
>   
> Moodboard by my sweet yeetbellina, Katieitsmee!
> 
> Also, happy birthday to @driversputa on Twitter!

In hindsight, it had seemed like a good idea to take a drive that night.

Ben had reasoned that familiarizing himself with his new surroundings would be prudent if he were going to live here, and so he hadn’t really considered any sort of repercussions when he’d tucked into his car just after dinner to wander about town.

What he hadn’t planned for—and might call this oversight reasonable if he weren’t learning that this is, in fact, staple for his new home—was the rain. _Torrents_ of rain, and to make matters worse, he couldn’t have anticipated getting hopelessly, _horribly_ lost. 

And he’d been put out by this at first, when he’d stumbled into Sheev’s with his jacket pulled tight over his head. He’d cursed his luck and grumbled under his breath, had every intention to get his directions and then head straight home.

But that was before he’d met _her._

He can’t remember having such a long conversation with a woman, can’t remember knowing one who _wanted_ to talk to him this long—but for whatever reason, _Rey_ doesn’t seem to be tired of talking to him at all. 

And now she’s invited him to _stay._

He’s been picking apart her invitation for the entirety of the time it takes her to close down the bar. He tells himself it’s most likely just kindness, that he shouldn’t look into it—but then she’ll peek over at him from the sink or the front door she’s locking, and the way she _smiles_ at him. Ben isn’t sure what to make of a smile like that. 

It doesn’t help that he can’t seem to stop watching her.

Her arms are slim and delicate as they peek out from her stark white tank top, but the colorful array of floral tattoos over her shoulder and down her arm is bright and vibrant. Her neck is graceful and long as it extends out of short, teased hair that seems dark in the dim bar lighting, but around her throat wraps a black cord wound around several times before tying off at her nape. She’s all narrow waist and wide hips and perfect ass moulded in cutoff denim that wraps around shapely thighs—and he thinks someone like Rey Johnson should come with a health warning. 

He’s still doing his very best not to stare at her ass when she finally tells him she’s done with her work, and he slides off his barstool in a daze as she gestures towards a door near the back. He follows her through the door and up the stairs beyond, and that’s all it takes to find himself standing in the apartment of the most beautiful woman he’s ever met. It’s small, a kitchen and living area all tucked into one space, leading off to a raised platform just beyond that boasts a bed no larger than a queen at best. 

He tries not to think about the fact that she’ll be sleeping so close, averting his eyes to the functional-looking futon in front of her modest-sized television. It looks a little too small for him, but it won’t be the worst night’s sleep he’s ever had. He shrugs out of his jacket as he watches her drop her keys into a little bowl by the door, breezing through her living room and into the kitchen beyond to open up her fridge.

“Do you want anything to drink?”

He forces his eyes to remain fixed on her face, willing himself not to dwell on the fact that the refrigerator light only makes the dark bra he has been trying not to stare at all night all the more visible under her thin tank top. “No, thank you,” he manages, draping his jacket carefully over the back of her couch. “I’m okay.”

She shrugs, pulling out a water bottle and unscrewing the lid before she takes a long gulp. He watches the slim line of her throat move with the action, feeling his breath grow a little shorter as her soft-looking mouth curves around the rim. It’s been driving him to distraction all night, her mouth, but then again, _all_ of her has, if he’s being honest.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a creature as enticing as she is. Pert nose that wrinkles when she’s thinking, full mouth that has a tendency to get trapped beneath white teeth, bright eyes that narrow as she studies him, _freckles_ —Ben swallows uselessly around the rapidly growing lump in his throat as she finishes her drink, screwing the cap back on and returning it to the fridge before she shuts the door. 

She gives him her attention again as she kicks out of her shoes. “Do you need to use my shower?”

“Oh, no,” he tells her, his traitorous brain dipping to thoughts of her in her _shower_ beyond his control, something that is dangerous to his health. “I’ll be okay.”

“Okay, well, I’m having one.” His brain short circuits then, because she reaches for the hem of her tank top as she pads across the kitchen, pulling it unceremoniously over her head and leaving her in nothing but her cutoff shorts and her very black, very _thin_ lace bra beneath it. He feels his lips part and his eyes widen, but Rey just flashes him that little smile that’s been making it hard to really catch his breath all night. “Just make yourself comfortable, okay?”

She leaves him addled out in her living room, closing the bathroom door behind her as seconds later the sounds of her shower begin to bleed through the door. Ben doesn’t release the breath he’s holding until he hears the slide of her shower curtain, leaning back against her couch to sit at the edge as he stares down at his feet in a daze. 

He’s not sure if he’s going to survive the night. 

* * *

He’s stripped down carefully to the t-shirt under his button down and his boxer shorts—quickly hiding his legs away under the blanket he’s swiped from the foot of her bed as he sits ramrod straight on her futon. 

He thinks he’s just about got himself mentally prepped to handle sleeping only a few feet away from a beautiful woman who apparently has no qualms with semi-nudity—and has high hopes for holding it together, he really does. 

Until she steps out of the bathroom.

His position unfortunately means that he has a perfect view of the door as it opens up, and he doesn’t mean to look, he really doesn’t, but his head turns like some sort of newfound Pavlovian response to her presence, his mouth dropping open so fast he can almost hear it hitting the floor. 

And Rey acts like it’s nothing, when she strolls out of the bathroom with her legs completely bare, seems to think it’s _no big deal_ that he can see the bright neon pink of her panties and the obvious points of her nipples through the soft, baby-doll t-shirt she’s sporting. 

But it is a big deal. 

It is a _very_ big deal. 

This is made apparent by the way his cock twitches violently in his boxer shorts, and he quickly grabs for the pillow he borrowed (one of _four_ , he’s never met any _one_ person who sleeps with _four_ pillows) to pull it over his lap. His chest rises and falls a little faster as his heart races beneath it. 

She’s toweling at her hair idly as she gives him that same airy grin, quirking an eyebrow as her eyes dip down the front of him to take in his bedtime attire that she can make out from above his protective blanket and pillow. “You’re not trying to sleep over there, are you?”

“I—” He draws a blank. He’s too busy staring at the very detailed, very _large_ depiction of a sunflower across her right thigh, his eyes tracing the delicate leaves that sprout around it. They creep high to tuck under the band of her underwear, and he’s wondering how far up it goes. What exactly is the alternative? Surely she doesn’t mean— “Yes?”

She clicks her tongue, tossing her towel on the floor in her bedroom. Ben tries not to think about the clutter. “That’s going to be uncomfortable as hell.” She jerks her head towards her bed, and he’s just doing his best not to let his gaze linger on her legs. “The bed’s plenty big enough for the both of us.”

“Oh, n-no,” he says in a rush. “That’s okay. I’m fine here. I wouldn’t want to make things uncomfortable for you.”

The corner of her mouth quirks in a way that makes his stomach flutter. “Only one here that will be uncomfortable is _you_ if you try to sleep on that old futon.”

He swallows around the growing lump in his throat, thinking that the futon seems like holy ground right now, because the alternative is something he doesn’t think he can possibly _survive._ “It’s really okay. I don’t mind—”

She puts her hands on her hips, giving him a stern look. “Get on the bed, Solo.”

She watches him the entire time as he stands from her futon, the blanket he’s clutching sliding to the floor. He clenches his fingers at his sides as he tries to gather his bearings, watching as she smirks down at his feet. He curls his toes self-consciously in his anklet socks, feeling stupid now, but he takes careful steps as he wills his dick to be still, refusing to look at her bare legs. 

He’s not thinking about how this is a momentous occasion, and that she has no idea. He isn’t dwelling on the fact that he hasn’t the slightest idea as to what to do in this situation, that he has no point of reference to gauge what might come next. He’s _not thinking_ about it. 

Mostly.

She taps her foot almost impatiently as he pads across her floor, the noise seeming like a siren’s song that begs that he _look_ —the image of her lacy little underwear branded on his brain and sending a series of direct messages south.

He slides under her covers in one quick motion, keeping his back ramrod straight and his hands fixed firmly over his chest as he stares up at her ceiling. He listens to the sounds of her footsteps as she crosses the floor to join him, her bed dipping as she slides under the covers. He tenses when he feels the warmth of her calf against his, making it all too obvious just how small her bed really is. Just how _close_ she actually has to be—and he’s thinking he should have fought harder to stay on the futon. 

She turns on her side to prop her chin on her fist, and Ben holds his breath as he feels her eyes on him. “Are you comfortable?”

_No, absolutely not, I am only a handful of seconds from hyperventilating, thank you very much._

“Sure,” he mumbles. “Comfortable.”

“Not cold?”

He’s still in the process of counting the textured pieces on her ceiling, his throat too dry, his tongue too thick. He doesn’t tell her that he’s warm enough to spark dry kindling right now; he just nods his head with his eyes trained upwards. 

“I’m fine.”

He can feel every little movement of her body, each one bringing her that much closer to him. His heart pounds so roughly it seems to beat inside his throat—and he resists the urge to squirm, even if it’s hard. Even if there’s a growing situation happening between his legs that at any moment will give her ample reason to kick him out of her bed. Hell, her _apartment._

He turns on his side to face away from her finally, even if only to save himself from embarrassment—tucking his arm under the remaining pillow under his head and trying to make it clear that he’s going to sleep. Even if he’s not sure he’ll be able to. 

“Well,” he says finally in a voice that sounds a little too high to be his. “Goodnight.”

There are seconds that pass where he thinks he might be home free, thinks that it might mean _that’s that_ —but he isn’t so lucky. Or rather, maybe he _is_ , given the frustrated sound she makes. He can’t be sure.

“Seriously? That’s it?”

He chances a peek over his shoulder, his face the picture of innocence. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re seriously not going to make a move?”

He feels his face flood with heat, something similar happening between his legs. He’s still a little astounded that _this_ is what she’s upset about. Does she really want him to… “I—” He’s desperately trying to think of something to say. Trying to think of _anything_ that isn’t the truth. “I thought—”

“Did I misread this?” Her mouth turns down in a frown. “Am I not your type?”

Ben almost laughs at that. _His type._ He doesn’t even know what his type _is_ —but after tonight he might say that it’s just _her._ “That’s not it,” he tells her hastily. “That’s not it at _all.”_

“Then what is it? I mean, I couldn’t have given you clearer signals. You’re in my _bed_ for fuck’s sake.”

He’s aware of this, he really is—how could he _not_ be with the way her bare legs are so close to his? “Rey, it’s not that I—” His mouth forms a tight line, his jaw working briefly as he inhales deeply. “It’s not you.”

“Right,” she mutters irritably in a way that suggests she’s a little sore about it. “Of course it isn’t.”

“Listen, I promise it isn’t—”

She shifts as if trying to get away from him, and maybe it’s his fault for moving at the same time, maybe it’s his fault for _being here in the first place_ —but they both go still, when the source of his distress brushes against her hip. 

He realizes his hand is across her arm, attempting to do what, he isn’t sure, and she stares back at him with wide eyes as his cock gives an obvious throb before he realizes just how grave his error is. 

He feels panic flooding through him, his mouth opening to say something, say _anything_ —but Rey beats him to it.

“Okay, so maybe I am your type.”

His brow furrows as his lips turn down, and he tries to gently scoot away from her. “ _Fuck,_ I’m sorry. I’m _sorry._ I—”

She’s chasing after him. _Why_ is she chasing after him? “Hey, don’t be sorry,” she urges. “I’m just confused? If you’re this hard, why don’t you just—”

“Listen, Rey—”

“—I mean, I’ve been sending you signals all night—”

“—it isn’t that I don’t—”

“—promise you’re not taking advantage or anything—”

“—what I’m trying to say is—”

“—never seen a man play hard to get, but if that’s what you’re into I can—”

“— _I’ve never done this before.”_

Rey blinks at him, her body angled half over his where he’s scrambled as close to his side of the bed as he’s able, his chest heaving with effort.

“What?”

Ben closes his eyes, his voice a little softer. “I’ve never done this.”

“Like… picked up a girl at the bar?”

His face is flaming now, and again he finds himself staring up at the ceiling as embarrassment floods through him. He gives a slow shake of his head, taking a deep breath. “No. No, that isn’t what I mean.”

There’s a second, or maybe a dozen, that pass—ones where Ben increasingly wants to somehow just sink into the mattress and disappear—before she finally speaks again. 

“So you’ve never…”

A heavy inhale through his nostrils before he breathes out: “No.”

“Oh,” she answers softly. “Wow. Okay.”

He closes his eyes, preparing himself for the awkward aftermath where she tells him to go, where she, God forbid, _laughs_ —steeling himself for a good number of scenarios that would make more sense than what actually happens. 

“I mean, do you want to?”

He turns his face down to look at her incredulously. “Do I…?”

“Want to,” she repeats, hooking her leg over his. “Have sex, that is.”

“I…” He feels his eyes widening, his brain reduced to white noise. “You mean—”

She’s smiling, actually _smiling_ in that same way she has all night, like she finds him funny, but in a good way. She shuffles her body until she’s straddling his waist, kicking the comforter away as she goes until the hard length of his cock is just between her legs, tenting his boxers. 

“Because I could help you with that,” she says determinedly. 

His mouth closes just to open again. “You could… help me?”

“Well, yeah,” she laughs. “I mean, I want to. You knew that, right?”

“You mean… When you say you want to… You mean that you…”

“Want to fuck you.”

Ben almost swallows his tongue whole.

He’s trying to formulate a coherent response, trying to remember what words are in general—and so it takes him a few seconds longer than it should to register Rey’s hands on the elastic band of his boxers. She pulls them away from his hips to tug, and the cool air touches his heated cock and the way he _grabs_ for her wrists—it makes them both jolt.

She gives him a confused look. “Something wrong?”

“I don’t—” He flounders to put a name to what he’s feeling, some welling panic in his chest that wars with _yes yes yes_ but also _what the fuck what do I do?_ “I’m not sure if I—” He swallows thickly. “I don’t know if I’m—”

Rey cocks her head. “Hey, if you’re not… ready, or something… We don’t have to—”

Ben groans, throwing his free arm over his face and feeling like he wants to disappear. What sort of moron turns down someone like _Rey_ out of _nerves?_

“I just… wasn’t prepared.”

He doesn’t look at her, counting the seconds in his head as he waits for her to roll away, and _again_ —Rey surprises him.

“That’s okay,” she says quietly, her tone laced with a warmth of something like _understanding_. A sudden poke of her finger against the tented front of his boxers makes him jolt, letting his arm fall away to see her smiling at him. “But what are you going to do about this?”

“I…” His eyes flick down to the obvious tent briefly before returning to her face at a loss. “It will… go down.”

Her expression twists in thought, her teeth working at her lower lip. “Maybe I could… touch you a little? Would that be okay?”

“Touch me?”

She nods slowly. “Has anyone ever touched you, Ben?”

“I—” His breath catches when her palm slides over his clothed cock, pressing his lips together as his eyes roll back a little. “No,” he breathes. “They haven’t.”

“Then maybe I could”—she hooks one finger under the elastic of his boxer briefs, pulling it away from his skin carefully now—“be the first.” He stares up at her with his mouth parted, feeling a trace of that same wariness, but lessened now, nearly overridden by the steady _thump_ of his heart. “Would it, Ben?” His gaze flits down between them, the head of his cock leaking already as it comes into view from beneath his boxers. “Would that be okay?”

“Would that be”—he’s still staring at her finger that pulls and _pulls_ —“okay?”

“Mhm.” His cock comes into view as she pulls the thin fabric down and down until he springs free, jutting up between them as her eyes widen a little. “Wow. I’ve never—” Her hand stills from where she’d been reaching for him, her fingers curling towards her palm as she bites her lip. Her voice is _impossibly_ soft when she asks again, “Can I touch you, Ben?”

He doesn’t know if he audibly answers, but he nods up at her almost as if in a trance, eyes fixed on her hand that is _so close._

“I’ve never seen one like yours,” she says airily, her fingers gently touching the sheathed head where his foreskin is stretched tight around it. She massages the skin there lightly, teasing him more than anything, but the way he can’t really _breathe_ with it. “God, Ben. You’re fucking _huge._ ”

He can’t describe what it does to him to hear this beautiful creature praise him as she is, and his entire body shivers, whether from her touch or that bit of awe in her voice, he can’t be sure. “Rey,” he chokes out. “That’s— _fuck.”_

She fists him a little tighter, pulling down her hand to pull his foreskin down over his shaft, bringing the angry red of his cockhead in full view as he hisses out a breath through his teeth. 

“It’s okay,” she coos breathily, giving a lazy stroke down his shaft and back up again. “Just relax.”

He’s not sure how that’s possible, not when her thighs are spread so wide over his hips, not when her little fingers are wrapped around him like they are, not with the way she _touches_ him. His hands hover shakily near her thighs, unsure what to do with them, and Rey’s free hand slides over the back of one of his to guide him, showing him what’s okay. His palms come to rest against warm thighs that are soft, _so soft—_ his fingers curling slightly to grip her skin as she strokes him a little faster. 

“Is this okay?” Her thumb rubs a little circle into the softer flesh of his foreskin as it moves under her hand. “It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

Ben thinks the sound that escapes him might be a laugh, but it comes out broken and not quite right. Like an exhale that’s too harsh to be called one. “It doesn’t hurt. It _definitely_ doesn’t hurt.”

One side of her mouth turns up in a little smile, and she strokes him with a little more purpose now, making his entire body shudder. He sees the way she begins to lean, the way her body angles to bring her face just a little closer to his, close enough that he can begin to feel the warmth of her breath, smell the minty hint of her toothpaste. His cock is pressed between them a little, even as her fist continues to work him steadily, but her mouth is _so close_ now.

Her eyes flick up to his in what he thinks might be permission, a flash of wet pink at her lower lip as her tongue wets there. “What about this?” She braces her body against his chest with one palm flat against his chest, the other still _moving_ between them as it brings his cock closer and closer to the inevitable end. “Is this okay?”

He’s nodding before he can even get the words out, begging her with the motion of his head as he breathes _yes, yes, it’s okay_ —and this is something that _isn't_ a first. This brushing of her mouth against his. He’s done this before, a few times, in fact—but it almost _feels_ like the first time. He makes a sound that will probably embarrass him later, her mouth soft and warm and slightly wet against his, but his lashes flutter closed, and his hands move of their own accord, sliding up over her hips to hold her steady at the waist, and her hand just keeps _moving._

He can feel it already, that hot pressure licking low in his abdomen as it builds and _builds—_ and her fist works him a little disjointedly now with the angle of their bodies more pressed together, but it doesn’t seem to matter, his cock can’t differentiate anything beyond the heat of her hand and the slight wet that it spreads as she smears the stickiness of his precum to make a mess between them. 

There are sounds growing in his chest that are some pathetic mix of a whimper and an outright whine—and he’s pulling her closer now, holding her to his front as her wet palm works him as thoroughly as she can with the weight of her body pressed against his. 

She only stops kissing him when his mouth goes slack and his breath comes laboredly, huffing against her cheek when her lips wander to kiss at his jaw, tracing a path below it as her tongue slides just over his pulse point. Every muscle in his body feels as if it’s drawn too tight, his balls feeling heavy and his cock feeling nearly fit to _bursting_ —most likely because it _is._

“Rey,” he huffs. “ _Rey._ I’m gonna—”

“ _Come_ , Ben,” she breathes sweetly near his ear. “You can come.”

And maybe he was waiting for permission, maybe it wouldn’t have mattered either way—because his mouth falls open, and his eyes shut tight, and he can _feel_ the way he jerks against her palm—his cock twitching heavily as wet warmth leaks through her fingers wrapped tight around the head now, seeping out to make a mess of his stomach that heaves beneath it. He can feel it pooling into his navel, feeling her fist sliding against the line of hair that trails beneath it, and he shudders through his orgasm as his teeth grind together and stars bloom behind his eyelids. 

He feels dizzy and breathless after, almost as if he’s floating—the warm weight of her tiny body above his the only thing bringing him back down to Earth. Her lips still move sweetly against his cheek, tracing a path to his lips to brush there, and he inhales unsteadily as she applies a warm pressure, her kiss feeling almost too soft with the way his cum is cooling between them. Her fingers trail through the mess he’s made, her lips curling against his as a breathy little laugh escapes her.

“I guess that’s one thing off your bucket list, huh?”

He grins dazedly against her mouth. “Definitely.”

She pushes away to sit back up over his hips, cocking an eyebrow at the mess he’s made of his stomach, his cock twitching a little under her gaze from where it lies there even as it grows softer from being spent. “Maybe next time we can cross something else off?”

“Next time?”

He must be gaping as much as it feels like he is, because she grins back at him. “I hope so.”

He’s still trying to process the possibility of a _next_ time as she rolls away, reaching down to her floor to toss him the towel she’d thrown there before pulling open a drawer to rifle through it. He’s wiping away the tacky fluid from his stomach as she flounces to her back with some pink silicone something in her fist, reaching to shove at her panties until they start to roll down her thighs. 

Ben’s eyes go wide as he watches her flick on a button at the wand-like toy in her hand, smiling up at him coyly. “I’m going to take care of me now,” she tells him pointedly, almost as if she’s telling him about the fucking weather. Her shirt bunches around her navel, and he learns _exactly_ how far the leaves sprouting from her sunflower tattoo go, creeping up to curl around her hip bone.“But you can watch.” He already is, eyes fixed on the bulbous end of the toy as it glides over her stomach to drift lower where he can make out neat curls even in the thin moonlight. “If you want?” 

Ben’s brain has devolved into some neanderthal-like state in which real words don’t actually exist—but he nods dumbly back at her as she slips the head of the toy between her legs, not planning to miss _one second_ of _whatever_ she allows him to see.

Ben thinks to himself that he really might not survive the night.

* * *

When he wakes the next morning, the first thing Ben notices is the chill on the opposite side of the bed, signaling it’s apparent emptiness. It takes him a few moments to recall the events of the night before—the way she’d touched him, the way she’d touched _herself_ , the way she’d let him _watch_ —but she’d definitely been there, when he’d fallen asleep. He remembers her warm little body curled into his, had fallen asleep to the scent of her shampoo that clung to her drying hair tickling under his nose. 

It had been… nice, admittedly. 

It had been _more than._

He lifts his head in mild confusion to peer around the tiny room, Rey nowhere to be found as he slowly pushes up from the mattress. It is only after a quick stretch and a brief rubbing of his eyes that he notices a little scrap of paper at her nightstand, his name scrawled across the folded front as he thumbs it open to peer at the note inside.

_Ben,_

_I know this is fucking cliche, but you looked like you were sleeping pretty good, and I forgot I had somewhere to be today. (Not that I didn’t mind the distraction. ;)) Help yourself to anything in my fridge, and just lock the door behind you when you’re ready to leave._

_And also,_

_You’d better fucking call me. <3 _

_Rey_

He’s smiling as his eyes move over her phone number penned at the bottom, his heart racing in his chest as the memory of the night prior washes over him a little more fully. His head is full of soft touches and softer kisses and warm, _so warm_ —and he holds the paper tight in his fist, wondering how the fuck he got so lucky. 

Thinking to himself that now he definitely doesn’t mind so much that he’d gotten lost.

* * *

He didn’t call her over the rest of the weekend, something that probably makes him seem like a jerk, given what happened on Saturday. It’s just that every time he picks up his phone, every time his thumb hovers over her contact information—his stomach knots and his chest tightens and the utter _anxiety_ he feels when he contemplates only _calling_ her—

It’s made for a difficult weekend, to say the least. 

It’s just that the more he thinks about her, how she seems to have stepped out of one of his dizziest fantasies—it makes it all the more obvious that she has no business being interested in him. It had taken a little while for the heady fog of post-orgasm to die down that morning after, longer still for the uncertainty of: _she knows I’m a virgin_ to set in—but he thinks it was inevitable, his anxiety over the whole thing. Pretty par for the course, really. 

But he vows that he will call today, that he'll gather his courage. He will call her, he will be casual, and he will _not_ dissolve into an awkward fit of nerves when he asks to see her again. Because he _will,_ he vows. See her again. 

It is with this resolve that he steps into the lecture hall in which he’ll be teaching his classes for the rest of the year. 

His mother had protested, when he’d turned down the offer of a position at Marshall University, when he’d decided not to follow in his father’s footsteps and step out on his own instead—and he thinks that it will be good for him to put some distance between them, even if he has to suffer through daily calls from his mother. 

He tries not to appear nervous when he breezes through the door to the lecture hall, even if his stomach is in knots—the wide room a far cry from the smaller classroom he’s used to back at his position at Mountwest—but he takes a deep breath as he shuffles pointedly across the space, dropping his bag down next to the podium and bending to pull out his notes for the syllabus he plans to go over. 

He straightens to spread them out over the top of the podium, steeling himself and burying his nerves as he finally looks up to greet the wide array of seated students waiting for him to speak, opening his mouth with every intention to do so.

Except the words don’t come out.

His mouth gapes, and his eyes widen a little, because there are upwards of one hundred students filed in the ascending rows that fill the lecture hall—but Ben’s eyes are fixed only on one.

His gaze travels up from faded converse, moving over long, tanned legs as they climb up to what seems to be penchant cutoff denim—over a peek of midriff and a stretch of tight cotton and higher still to yield soft mouth and bright eyes that look almost as surprised as he feels. 

_Rey._

He can still hear her voice in his ear, breathy and soft as it urges him to _come, Ben, you can come_ —still feel the way she’d touched him, recall the trembling in his skin when her fingers had teased the sticky mess he’d made of his stomach after. He remembers _everything—_ but that’s not the worst of it, he thinks. Because forty-eight hours ago, Rey Johnson made him come.

And now he’s realizing she’ll never be able to again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no guess he’ll be a virgin forever the poor dear 🤧


	3. Rules Are Made To Be Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Rey isn’t very good at being told no. 😂
> 
> Special thanks to [Margaret](https://twitter.com/xoruffitup) for spoon feeding me some good and smart content for Ben’s subject because she is good and smart and I am bad and dumb I love her ❤️
> 
>   
> Amazing board by [curiousniffin](https://twitter.com/curiousniffin) on Twitter! 😍

Rey had only a few expectations when she’d signed up for Modern Literature—mostly that she would find it dull and tedious in her senior year, having put off this Gen Ed class until now for no other reason than there were more interesting things to fill her schedule with.

So no, she hadn’t had many expectations for the class, hardly any at all, really—that is until Ben Solo had walked through the doors to stand behind the podium.

She had to blink to make sure she was seeing right, to ensure that yes, this _was_ the same man she’d made come (supposedly for the first time, although she’s inclined to believe that given his enthusiasm at only _watching_ her take care of herself after) and then oddly hadn’t called her for the rest of the weekend.

There had been a brief moment where she’d wondered if the entire thing had been an act—but she’d quickly reasoned that it was illogical to think he would play a card like that to ultimately _not_ fuck her. No, she fully believes that Ben Solo has never been inside a woman. A tragedy, she thinks, given the beautiful cock he’s carrying around that still makes her press her thighs together a little when she dwells on how it had felt in her hand, how she thinks it would feel _inside_ her—but it’s more than that.

It’s the way he blushed when he saw her in her panties. It’s the way he tried to roll over and go to sleep without touching her. It’s the absolute _awe_ in his eyes and his voice when she’d made him come all over her hand. 

Yes, Ben Solo is _definitely_ a virgin.

And now he’s teaching her fucking class.

She thinks he’s been working up to some sort of actual speech she’s been watching him practice in his head for the last several seconds when he spots her sitting there in the front row. His eyes go a little wide in that adorable way of his when he’s surprised, his mouth parting slightly only to hang open dazedly, and she imagines her expression isn’t much better, given how much of a shock this all is.

Mostly because she’s thinking his chances of calling her are now even _less_ than they were ten minutes ago.

His eyes aren’t quite level with hers, dipping down to linger somewhere near her mouth as he gapes for a full four seconds. Rey knows this because she counts each one. She thought maybe he hadn’t called her because she pushed him; honestly, she assumed that he was probably sitting at home overthinking, given his overall jittery persona—but never in a million years did she imagine that _this_ would be the way she saw him again. 

She watches him collect himself, watches him straighten his tie (fuck, he wears a _tie)—_ staring down to blink at the notes he’s laid out across the podium, and she wonders if it’s odd, how very _not_ put out by this revelation she is. It’s problematic, to be sure, but from the moment Ben Solo had told her he’d _never_ _done this before_ —an intense desire to rectify that situation had bubbled up inside her. 

And looking at him now as he thumbs distractedly through the papers at his podium with a slight color at his cheeks… she’s realizing absolutely _nothing_ has changed about that. 

She still thinks she wants to feel that big, beautiful cock moving inside her, wants to make good use of that soft-looking mouth that has no business on a man as large as he is—and the knowledge that he is now relatively off limits sort of makes her only want him more. 

Honestly, the entire thing is fucking _hot_. She wonders what that says about her. She isn’t sure she actually cares. 

“G-good afternoon,” he stammers, pointedly not allowing his eyes to settle on her again. He looks out at the other students, his throat bobbing with a swallow before he clears his throat to collect himself. “Welcome to Modern Literature. This course is intended to offer an overview of some of the fundamental canon works of the 20th Century. We will cover a variety of both British and American authors, taking into account the cultural and historical contexts of each work to consider how each played a role in advancing the modernist tradition.”

Rey leans forward on her desk, her lips curling a little as she props her fist just under her chin. She doesn’t miss the way his eyes dart over to her almost impulsively, like he can’t help it—and she lets her smile hitch up a little wider as his nostrils flare for the briefest of moments, quickly averting his gaze as he continues to address the class.

“As you are probably already aware, classes will meet each Tuesday and Thursday at 1:15, and I will be implementing an attendance grade into your average for the course. Three absences will result in a zero grade, and will affect your final score tremendously.” He gives them a stern look, his voice lowering a little as he easily takes on the role of authority. “There will be no exceptions or excuses.”

Rey won’t even pretend she doesn’t have to press her thighs together a little, this sterner side of him seeming to have just as much (if arguably not more) of an effect on her as his stammering and his flushed cheeks. Her mind briefly dips into the fantasy of that same tone grated against her ear, her body bent over his desk as he tells her _no exceptions or excuses_ while he pushes into her from behind. 

Rey feels heat at her neck, and she bites her lip as she watches his lips press together in thought.

“I’ve uploaded a copy of the syllabus to the course portal, so I advise each of you to log in after you’re through here and download a copy.” He shuffles the papers in front of him to bring another into view. “There will be five choices of reading assignments this semester,” he tells them. “ _Orlando_ by Virginia Woolf, _A Farewell to Arms_ by Hemingway, _Beloved_ by Toni Morrison, _Lady Chatterley’s Lover_ by DH Lawrence and _Possession_ by AS Byatt. Your final grade will comprise two papers, an in-class final exam, and a participation mark. The essay questions can be found on the course portal, and it’s up to each of you to choose which two novels to write papers on. Papers will be due one week following the final class discussion on your chosen novels. I’ll be available during office hours, should you want further discussion on a novel you’re considering writing about.”

Rey thinks to herself that Ben’s _office hours_ aren’t meant to be a turn on, and it probably _shouldn’t_ fluster her to think of him holed up in his office somewhere, thinking of his long legs spread out in a desk chair as she settles down on her knees between them—his chest heaving as she brings that pretty cock of his to her mouth. She knows that he would lose his _mind_ for it, considering how gone he was only to be touched a _little_ at her apartment. 

She shifts in her seat as she struggles to maintain her focus.

Ben, or rather, _Professor Solo_ (it shouldn’t turn her on just to think it, she thinks, it really _shouldn’t_ ) seems to be doing his very best not to look at her now. She watches his eyes move across the crowd around her and behind her—never allowing them to settle on her. She knows because she never takes hers off of him. It’s obvious, at least to her, the way that he’s working so hard _not to look at her_ —bringing attention to it simply by going so far out of his way to try and _not_ bring attention to it.

Or maybe it’s just her.

He’s talking about the course material now, and she tries her best to focus on the words coming out of his mouth—not just the shape of said mouth as it forms them.

“To understand the grounding of the modernist movement, we should bring to these novels an awareness of the historical climate influencing each of these works, which authors may have consciously or unconsciously made commentary on through their writing. To bring an appropriately critical eye to reading these texts, we will begin with the immense societal destabilization caused by World War I…”

And none of the things he’s saying are particularly hot, of that she’s fairly certain. She thinks that there isn’t a single reason for her to be squirming in her seat while he dives into the historical context of the books from his reading list—but it doesn’t change the fact that she is. It’s his voice, she thinks. It’s the way it lowers when he delivers a certain point, the way he is so obviously impassioned by the subject matter that he’s delivering. It’s just _him_ , most likely. 

She watches that wide, pink mouth of his dissecting the importance of works that could arguably be called feminist literature, watches him find his stride as he settles into the comfortable air of teaching he so obviously has a grasp on—and it’s nothing like the blushing, stammering virgin who’s filled her thoughts for the past forty-eight hours. _That_ Ben hardly has any idea what he’s doing, at least in the ways that count, she thinks—but _this_ Ben…

 _This_ Ben commands the entire fucking room.

She very much wants to ride them _both_ into next year.

She thinks these classes of his are going to be the longest of her life.

* * *

She’s not sure how she makes it through, with the way just listening to him lecture proves enough to leave her riled and a little wet between her thighs, and by the time he dismisses them, signalling the end of the class—Rey has to actively _collect_ her own thoughts just to keep from devolving into a puddle of arousal on the floor. 

It’s made for a stressful hour, to say the least.

People are gathering their things around her, and for the first time since almost the very beginning of his class—Ben’s eyes settle on her, finding hers fixed on his and waiting for his attention as his throat bobs and his lips form a tight line. “Ms. Johnson? Could you see me after class for a moment? I’d… like to discuss the question you emailed me before the start of the semester.”

Rey’s eyebrows raise, fairly impressed by his ability to come up with a falsity on the spot. She gives him a brief nod, tucking her notebook into her backpack that rests at her feet and watching people rise from their chairs to leave the room. 

If anyone thinks it’s odd that the professor asked her to stay behind after their _first_ day—they don’t make a show of it. She watches them file out as they chat amongst themselves, and Rey lingers with one hand wrapped around the strap of her backpack, standing from her seat to watch Ben settle into the chair behind the desk in front of the wide whiteboard—shuffling through his papers again for no other reason, Rey suspects, than nerves.

He doesn’t speak until every last student has left them behind, not until the door closes behind the last one and the silence weighs heavily around them, making it all the more obvious how _alone_ they are. Rey wonders if he is also thinking about the fact that the last time they were alone together, she had her hand on his cock. She wonders if he’s thinking about his cum all over her hand.

She knows she sure as fuck is.

He clears his throat, finally looking up at her with a tense expression. “I had no idea.”

“What, you mean you didn’t _know_ I just so happened to be signed up for your class that you _just_ rolled into town to teach?”

If he catches her sarcasm, he doesn’t show it. “Yes,” he says tersely. “Or rather, no. I had no idea.”

“Obviously,” she laughs. “How could you have known?” She cocks an eyebrow. “But that doesn’t explain why you didn’t call me.”

“Why I didn’t…” He gapes back at her for a handful of seconds, finally shaking his head. “No, that isn’t why I didn’t call you.”

She cocks her head. “Then why didn’t you?”

“This isn’t—” He makes a frustrated sound. “This isn’t why I asked you to stay behind.”

“Oh, I know.” She crosses her arms across her chest. “But I still want to know why you didn’t.”

He chews on the inside of his lip briefly, reaching to run his fingers through his hair, ruffling it up in a way that resembles how it had looked when she had run _her_ fingers through it. “I didn’t call you because—” His lips purse as his eyes dip to her mouth again, something that she thinks might be becoming a habit for him. “I didn’t call you because I was nervous,” he mutters, color rising in his cheeks that makes her want to kiss them. “Okay?”

She can’t help it, despite the oddness of the situation they now find themselves in, she feels a smile pulling at her lips, because he’s still just so _adorable_. “That’s too bad.”

His eyebrows raise slightly. “Too bad?”

“I was hoping you would,” she says with a sigh, “so that I could show you a few more things.”

His lips part, and his eyes widen, and it’s still there, she can _see_ it—that hunger in his eyes for whatever she can show him, for all the things she wants to _do_ to him. He quickly masks it, donning a more serious expression as his lips turn down in a frown.

“Obviously, we won’t be able to… see each other anymore.” She doesn’t miss the way he winces a little as he says it, and she knows—she _knows_ that this isn’t what he wants. She knows it because she feels _exactly_ the same way, but she lets him finish his little speech. He’s obviously been practicing it. “If I had known you were my student… I would never have let what… happened between us… happen.” His tongue dips out briefly to wet his lower lip, and her eyes flick down to capture the motion, and she knows he notices her watching. His throat moves with his swallow as he barrels on. “I think it would be best if we just… pretend it never happened. I would also appreciate your”—his brow furrows with something like unease—” _discretion_ in regards to my—to my, ah—”

She can still feel the smile at her mouth, his flustered state like a direct line to her libido, something that she’s never considered a turn on before this, before _him_ , really. “Problem?”

“Problem,” he echoes dryly. “Yes. That.”

“Of course I would never tell anyone,” she tells him honestly.

He breathes a noticeable sigh of relief, his shoulders losing some of the tension they’re carrying as her words put him at ease. “Thank you,” he breathes. “I appreciate that.”

“But none of this changes the fact that I want to help you with it.”

His brows shoot up nearly into his hairline, his mouth parting in surprise. “Help… me?”

She takes a deliberate step, pressing her hands to the edge of the plain desk and leaning over it a little. “I want to help you solve your problem.”

“Solve my… problem,” he parrots back, looking lost. “I don’t understand.”

Her lips curl deliberately as she lowers her voice. “I still want to fuck you, Solo.”

His flush is instant, coloring his neck and his cheeks as he gapes back at her, and she can see the way his mouth opens and closes aimlessly, as if he’s trying to formulate a response. “That’s not—that isn’t—of _course_ that can never—”

“Why not?” She keeps her expression mostly neutral. “Tell me why it can’t happen.”

“Because I can’t—because _we_ can’t—”

“So you don’t want to fuck me?”

His expression is near panic, and oddly, it just makes her want to rile him up more. “That is—my feelings about the matter are”—she wonders if he’s even aware of the way his eyes dip down to her mouth _again_ —”irrelevant. It _can’t_ happen.”

“Because?”

“Because—because we—it’s against the _rules_ , Rey.”

“The rules,” she echoes.

“Yes,” he tells, that edge creeping back into his voice, the one that exudes that stern aura he gives off while teaching, the one that only makes her want him that much more. “It can’t happen. I’m sorry.”

Rey’s smile turns nearly predatory, and in this moment, she feels as much. “Haven’t you heard… _Professor_ Solo?” 

He visibly shudders a little at the title, his calm demeanor cracking, and no, she thinks. Ben doesn’t want to end this anymore than she does. He just thinks he _should._ “Heard?”

“Rules…” She leans a little further over his desk, reaching across it to let her fingers tease at his tie as she gives it a quick tug, some soft sound that resembles a whimper tumbling out of Ben’s mouth. “Rules are _made_ to be broken.”

She doesn’t wait for him to reply, not that she thinks he’s even able to, with the way he’s gaping—giving him a guileless grin as she straightens to put a more comfortable distance between them. She situates the strap of her backpack as she gives him a quick once over, vowing then that this thing between them isn’t over—not by a long shot.

She turns to leave the lecture hall, leaving Ben dumbstruck at his desk to mull over what she hopes he recognizes is a promise. She’s still smiling when she shuts the door behind her to push out into the hall beyond—thinking that today changed nothing, at least not for her. She still wants him, maybe even a little more so now, and it’s ironic, she thinks, that he turns out to be her teacher.

Because, oh, the things she would like to teach Ben Solo.

She tells herself that she’ll definitely get her chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now it’s just a matter of Ben’s willpower, me thinks


	4. I Am My Own Riddle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me thinks ben has the willpower for one more encounter at least  
>   
> Amazing gif board made by [colourisgreen](https://twitter.com/colourisgreen) on Twitter! 😍

“Honestly, Ben,” Rose grouses. “I thought getting the brief introduction to common sexual behavior out of the way early was the best way to really dive into the new term—but the _number_ of snickering twenty-somethings when I brought up the female orgasm.”

Ben purses his lips, keeping his mouth shut tight as he lets Rose vent about her class—just as he always does when she decides to include him in these types of discussion.

“What I _wanted_ to do was call out the ones I suspect have never given one themselves,” she snorts. “Imagine. Grown-ass men nearly, kicking up a fuss when I mention the _labia._ ”

Ben does his best to keep the heat out of his face, desperate not to be one of the men Rose is grumbling about—but feeling a slight kinship to the male students in her Human Sexuality class. Torn between wishing he could just _take_ the damn course himself and wanting to stay far, far away from it. 

To be fair, he’d had no idea what she taught when he’d bonded with her and her wife during his visit to the campus this past summer. 

“Maybe they’ll settle down after the first week or so,” Ben offers.

Rose doesn’t answer at first, staring up at the menu board above them as she considers her order. She settles on something that sounds far too sweet for Ben’s liking, finally looking back at him to roll her eyes. “Hardly. I’ve learned that half of these kids take my class because they think they’ll spend the entire semester laughing about pussy.”

Ben’s ears heat under his hair, and he gives his order to the barista in lieu of answering. 

“So how is your first week going?” Rose follows him away from the line to slide into the seat of one of the little tables. “Did you get a less problematic roster?”

Ben tries his best not to think about wide eyes and soft mouth in the first row of his lecture hall, tries to push: _rules are meant to be broken_ far from his thoughts—something he’s been struggling with the last few days. 

“So far so good,” he mutters. “Seemingly normal first week.”

_Except for the incredibly off-limits woman who has had her hands all over his cock._

“I envy you,” Rose grumbles. “If I hear one more laugh from the back when I start in on the normality of masturbation I will start chucking erasers.”

Ben can’t help but laugh a little at the image of this very tiny woman getting so worked up, her brow wrinkling as she continues to mumble obscenities under her breath. She becomes distracted by a text as they wait for their coffee, and Ben’s gaze wanders about the little shop to people watch. He recognizes a few faces he’s seen around campus in his first week, students and professors alike—and he can’t help the way his eyes unconsciously search for her, knowing that he shouldn’t and yet unable to stop himself. 

He hasn’t stopped thinking about the last time he saw her—her fingers on his tie and her face so close and her voice so _soft_ as it whispered that _rules are meant to be broken_ —and who can blame him, really? He doesn’t think there’s a creature on this entire earth as enticing as Rey Johnson, and he thought that _before_ he knew what her hands felt like on his cock, before he knew the soft little sounds she makes when she comes.

And he has to see her twice a week, knowing he can’t touch her again. 

He doesn’t think they’ve invented a hell worse than his. 

“Our next lesson covers the variations of sexual intercourse,” Rose sighs suddenly, laying her phone on the tabletop. “God help me when I have to explain the difference between cunnilingus and fellatio to those animals.”

Ben swallows hard, trying not to imagine either of those words in practical application, especially not with soft brown hair moving between his legs or arguably _worse_ —soft thighs around his ears as he does… something. What, he isn’t exactly sure, but he could figure it out, right? He could—

He hears his and Rose’s name being called from the counter, pulling him out of the thought pattern that has plagued him all week. 

“I’ll get it,” Rose tells him. “Be right back.”

He nods dumbly as she pushes away from the table, staring at his hands and wrestling with the knowledge that he will have to see Rey again today. That in a few hours, he’ll be only a few feet across from her again, doing his best to get through his lecture without letting his eyes linger too long.

Something that he found to be incredibly difficult the last time he attempted it.

His elbows rest against the table as his face falls in his hands, his fingers pushing through his hair as his glasses skew, heaving out a sigh. He really is in over his head, he thinks. 

“Morning, Professor.”

His entire body goes rigid. He doesn’t have to look up to place it, he’s heard that voice in his ears and his head for an entire week. He tilts up his face slowly, his mouth suddenly dry and his heart hammering away in his chest—eye level with a glinting little piercing at her navel that is glaringly obvious under the rough edge of her crop top and just above the hem of her high-waisted shorts. It takes all he has to tear his eyes away, to let them travel up over dark fabric at her chest and higher still to meet soft mouth curled in a sweet smile. 

“M-morning, Ms. Johnson.”

Her smile hitches wider, and he wonders if she’s thinking the same thing he is: how strange it is to be standing on such ceremony given the way they’ve touched each other. 

He doubts she feels as… affected as he is by it. 

Rey reaches to grip the strap of her backpack, shifting it without ever taking her eyes off his. “Did you consider my ah, project proposal?”

“Project… proposal?”

“The one we discussed after the first class.”

Ben feels his eyes widen, feels his breath become trapped in his chest.

_I still want to fuck you, Solo._

His head whips around, conscious that no one is likely to know what she’s referring to, and yet panicking all the same because she wants to talk about this _here?_ Rose is across the room at the counter, thanking the barista for her cup as she stops to grab napkins. 

“I think it’s probably not the best use of your… time,” he manages quietly. “You should probably seek out another… topic.”

“I like this topic just fine though,” she says coyly. “I’ve already dove into it, and I want to explore it a little more.”

“I’m afraid I can’t sanction that,” he says with a determination he doesn’t quite feel. “I’m sorry.”

He can see Rose approaching from the corner of his eye, and his heart rate picks up a few dozen beats, but Rey, to her credit (he thinks, at least, he isn’t sure), looks completely unrattled. She shrugs one shoulder, that same little smile at her mouth that’s been keeping him awake—shifting her backpack again. “Maybe we can talk more during office hours.”

He’s opening his mouth to tell her _no, good god, I can’t be alone with you in my office_ —but she’s already giving him a little wave, moving away from him just as Rose plops back down in her seat. He thinks he might be gaping at Rey’s retreating figure as she moves to the counter to place her own order, and it isn’t lost on Rose.

“One of your students?”

Ben shuts his mouth quickly, feeling his ears heat for a different reason now as he trains his gaze back on his friend. “Yes. Sorry. She had a question about the… syllabus.”

“Well,” Rose snorts, sliding his cup across the table as she takes a sip from her own. “Here’s hoping that she’s less difficult than the heathens I’m saddled with.”

Ben sneaks a glance back in Rey’s direction, the same heat in his ears flooding into his face when he catches her eye only to see her wink at him slyly, and he might almost laugh at Rose’s sentiment, at the idea of Rey being _less difficult._

Ben thinks to himself that she has no idea.

* * *

“ _I am my own riddle. Oh, Sir, you must not seek to ameliorate or steal away my solitude. It is a thing we women are taught to dread—oh the terrible power, oh the thickets round it—no companionable Nest, but a donjon._

_But they have lied to us you know, in this, as in so much else. The Donjon may frown and threaten—but it keeps us very safe—within its confines we are free in a way you, who have freedom to range the world, do not need to imagine. I do not advise imagining it—but do me the justice of believing—not imputing mendacious protestation—my Solitude is my Treasure, the best thing that I have. I hesitate to go out. If you opened the little gate, I would not hop away—but oh how I would sing in my golden cage—”_

Ben looks up from the open book, looking out into the lecture hall to meet a mixture of glazed eyes and mild interest—not daring to look at the one set of eyes he’s most desperate to. He clears his throat as he steps away from the podium, shoving his hands in his pockets as he leans against the back of the little desk at the front of the room.

He’s done his best, this hour, to stick to his lesson plan, to _not_ look at her every few seconds like he desperately wants to—keeping his thoughts on nothing more than _Possession_ as he uses this last twenty minutes to engage discussion, something he’s been dreading, if he’s being honest.

“So in this passage, Lamotte, a spinster poet, described her solitude as something that she as a woman had been taught to fear—depicted in her description of it being a donjon, a high tower in a castle—but instead she had come to think of it as something more akin to protection and security, something to be desired.” He pulls his hand from his pocket to adjust his glasses, almost _feeling_ the weight of her gaze from her place she’s kept in the front row, but still he pointedly keeps his gaze fixed on some vague point at the back of the class. “Do we interpret from this passage that she is truly content in her _golden cage_ and therefore resistant to Ash's attempts to woo her through their epistolary exchange?”

A hand darts up near the middle of the room, and Ben nods in her direction. “Miss Connix?”

“I think that she recognized that this _male_ poet”—Ben doesn’t miss the derision in her voice, and he thinks to himself that he’s on the cusp of a very _different_ sort of argument—“was attempting to encroach on her agency. She knew that he recognized her talent, and maybe she was afraid his masculine ego would try to silence her voice. I think she wanted to avoid this altogether. She knew she didn’t need someone like him, but of course, as men do, he convinced her otherwise.”

Ben frowns, trying to formulate a neutral response. He opens his mouth to weigh in, but another voice further down steals the opportunity. One that makes his pulse quicken.

“I disagree,” Rey says, and he looks at her now, he _has_ to—taking in the way she leans a little over her desk, the way the slim column of her neck turns to regard her classmate. “I think she wanted his attention from the very beginning. They met before he ever wrote her, and I think she wanted him even then.”

Ben can’t help himself, genuinely curious as to her reasoning. “What makes you say that?”

Rey turns her gaze on Ben now, and even in this setting, even with so many pairs of eyes on them both—it has the same effect. “She kept writing to him, didn’t she? Even after such a… rocky start, she didn’t exactly turn him away. Not really.”

Ben swallows, the weight of her gaze hinting that she is making a suggestion here that has nothing to do with A.S. Byatt. “Maybe she felt like she had to, for decorum’s sake. He was a person of good standing in her field, after all, she knew that they would be forced to… interact again.”

“That doesn’t explain the feeling in the interactions they were _already_ having,” Rey counters, a little quirk at her mouth that he thinks is meant only for him. “Some of the things she wrote were as good as her blushing to her ears.”

It takes everything in him not to react, _knowing_ she’s goading him now. _Here._ “I think that’s understandable, given her… state. As a spinster, she wouldn’t have had much… experience.” He presses his lips together briefly. “In the ways of men, that is.”

“Again,” Rey says determinedly. “Her actions suggest otherwise. She might have _appeared_ the blushing virgin, but this is the same woman who wrote: _I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.”_ Rey’s stare is heavy and pointed, and for a moment Ben forgets that there are nearly a hundred people in this room, for a moment he forgets that there is anyone other than him and her. “She wanted him,” Rey asserts. “She just didn’t think she _should_.”

Ben forgets every rational thought he’d had leading up to this moment, left staring back at her at a loss for a good number of seconds. He knows what she’s saying, knows she’s laying everything he’s wrestling with bare in front of everyone in this room—and yet no one is aware but the two of them.

Not that it makes him any less breathless.

“I still think she would have been better off if she’d just burned the damn letters and kept to her little love nest with Blanche,” Kaydel pipes up irritably, saving Ben from trying to give Rey an answer.

Rey laughs a little as she settles back into her chair. “Maybe. Either way, I’m just saying that Christabel deserved to get her world rocked. No one should die a virgin.”

Ben is grateful for the way he wears his hair, feeling the tips of his ears burning and knowing that they are most certainly bright red beneath it. He clears his throat if only to compose himself, pushing away from his desk to avert his eyes from Rey while he moves back to his podium.

“In any case,” Ben says with a little less assertion. “I think we can all agree their relationship was… complicated.” He hears a snickered, _whose isn’t_ from somewhere in the back—not even bothering to look up and discern the source, too afraid to let his eyes find Rey’s again. Feeling his resolve crumble with every interaction. He gives Rey a pointed look. “And that it ended horribly.” Ben doesn’t miss the furrow of Rey’s brow, and he chances a glance at that same non distinct point at the back of the room before she can chime in again. “Does anyone have a favorite passage they would like to share? Anything they would like to discuss before we dismiss?”

In retrospect, he should have known better, should have _ignored_ this particular part of his lesson plan, regretting it almost instantly when he sees a hand raise from the front row. He’s never so badly wanted to end a class early. 

“Yes, Ms. Johnson?”

There’s something wicked in her eyes when they meet his, something that terrifies him as well as _thrills_ him, because it’s _her_ , after all—and he waits with bated breath for whatever torment she’s decided to inflict on him now. 

“I particularly loved the letter from Leonora to Maud,” she tells him, and already Ben feels a cold sweat at his neck, because he knows, he _knows_ what she’s about to say. “When she described the necessity of _getting away from the cunt and the phallus_ in reference to female sexuality. I liked that she suggested it was more than that.”

She’s smiling, and there are a good number of muffled laughs sounding throughout the room, and his ears are _burning_ just like his _chest,_ and he has to _say_ something, but she just said the word _cunt_ in front of the entire class, and all he can think about is that he never actually got to _touch_ hers.

He’s pretty sure that had been her intent to begin with.

“Well,” Ben manages, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. “It _was_ one of the first novels to utilize that, ah… particular word in a way that wasn’t derogatory. I imagine it took from the cues set by _Lady Chatterley’s Lover_.”

“Gotta respect that,” Rey muses. “I’ve always liked that word.”

Ben can’t really think of a way to answer that, still lingering on the way her mouth had looked when she said the word _cunt_ —and a brief glance at the clock above the door saves him from having to. 

“Anyway, class, I’ll see you all next week. I’ll expect a chosen novel from the list that you’ll be doing your papers on by then, as well as a proposed outline.” He won’t look at her, he _won’t._ “If you have any questions, feel free to see me during office hours.”

Everyone is gathering their things, packing them away in their bags to stand from their desks—and Ben feels a little like he can breathe again, as he tucks his notes into his own bag. He doesn’t allow himself the opportunity to meet Rey’s eyes again, even though he can feel the full weight of them as he pushes away from the podium to leave the lecture hall, never once looking back. 

He’s still thinking about the things she said, the things she said in front of _everyone_ —hearing her: _she wanted it, she just didn’t think she should_ bouncing around his thoughts like an errant pinball and leaving just as much of an echo. 

Ben can’t say if what Rey implied is true, in regard to Christabel Lamotte. He thinks that’s something that will always be a matter of interpretation. 

But then again, he knows that’s not at all who Rey was talking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rey ain't here to play no damn games son


	5. Like A Good Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is horny. That’s it. That’s the chapter. No plot here. 😪  
>   
> This amazing gif board was gifted to me by [colourisgreen](https://twitter.com/colourisgreen) on Twitter! 😍

“No, you’re wrong,” Armie is saying. “It wasn’t The Hunna, it was Mansionair.”

“No, no,” Poe argues. “It was definitely The Hunna. Remember? Airwaves opened.”

Rey rolls her eyes. “Why are we arguing about which concert you guys made out in the bathroom at?”

“Excuse you,” Armie scoffs. “This is the date we consummated our love.”

“Please never say that to me ever again,” Rey sighs. 

“Someone’s jealous,” Poe sing-songs.

“There is no universe that I would ever be jealous of you,” Rey huffs.

“That reminds me.” Armie turns to sort of walk backwards beside her, waggling his eyebrows. “Whatever happened to the guy you sort of fucked last weekend?”

Poe’s face scrunches up. “How do you _sort of_ fuck a guy?”

“Shut up,” Armie chides before giving her another curious expression. “Well?”

“It’s… complicated,” she decides, not really sure how else to describe it without spilling the entire strange turn of events. “I’m working on it.”

Poe snorts. “You mean there’s a heterosexual male that had a chance with you—”

“Practically saw her _naked,_ I might add,” Hux butts in.

“—and you’re having to _work_ to get him into bed?”

Rey gives them a shrug. “Like I said, it’s complicated.”

Armie shakes his head. “You do know there’s at least twenty guys in a hundred-foot radius that would happily jump on the opportunity, right?”

She smiles to herself. “I sort of like this one, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Sounds made up, but okay,” Armie laughs. He spins around to keep talking to Poe, clearly losing interest in the subject, thankfully. For whatever reason, she’s not really interested in talking about her and Ben’s… relationship yet. Even if there really isn’t one. Not yet, at least. “So I distinctly remember hearing Violet City playing that night.”

“That’s because it was playing in my car after when we—”

“So yeah I’ll catch up to you guys later,” Rey interrupts clearly, having no desire to hear what they were doing in the back of Poe’s car the night they first hooked up.

She isn’t even sure they really hear her go, Armie giving her a halfhearted wave as she leaves them to continue on out the main campus entrance, doubling back to dart down the opposite sidewalk towards the library. She has a couple of hours until her shift starts at the bar, and she decides to use that time to pick up that book she put on hold at the library. 

She makes a quick decision to cut through Plant Hall to avoid the brutal sunlight beating down on the sidewalk outside, deciding the air conditioning will make a much easier walk to the library on the other side. 

To her credit, she had no ulterior motive when she first stepped inside the building. It truthfully did not occur to her that the Southard Family Building was just across the street from here, didn’t cross her mind just how close she was to his class. Her only intention was getting to the library.

Until she passes by a door that better captures her interest. 

_147_

_B. Solo._

She stares at the little plaque for a good number of moments, a little thrown at the idea cropping up in her mind. She hasn’t seen him since class last Thursday, and the way she’d flustered him had been at the forefront of her thoughts in the days that followed—no less determined to jump over his little hurdle of threadbare morality, but admittedly just as nervous about such a direct approach as she is thrilled by it.

But Rey has never been one to shy away from anything, and so it takes only those few seconds of uncertainty before she gives a little knock at his door. His answering: _come in_ makes her smile, already a little giddy about the dumbstruck expression he’s sure to give her when he sees her step inside, still not _quite_ sure why his bewilderment about her in general makes her want him that much more. 

And she’s rewarded with that look just as she thought she would be, his reaction slow when she opens the door to duck inside—a knitting of his brow, a parting of his lips, a slight widening to his eyes behind his glasses, one that is made even wider when she shuts the door and locks it. 

“Rey? What are you—” He doesn’t move; she’s not even sure if he could if he wanted to right now—but there’s a rigidness to his spine, a clenching of his fingers at the edge of his desk. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?” She steps casually across the room, dropping her backpack on the floor in front of his desk before leaning over it with her hands braced against the wood. “You told us to see you during office hours,” she says innocently, “if we had any questions in regards to our assignments.”

His throat bobs with a swallow, shrinking a little in his desk chair as if at any moment she might pounce on him from across the desk. She eyes what she’s recognizing as his _staple_ tweed wrapped around his shoulders, and it’s tempting, to be sure. 

“It’s a little… early in the year to really have a clear idea of your first book choice,” he says in a tone that’s a little too high for him. God, why do his nerves make her so damn horny? “We haven’t even worked through the first assigned reading yet.”

“Oh, I know,” she answers airily. “But I’m really enjoying _Possession._ I haven’t quite finished yet, but I’m already thinking of choosing it for my first paper.”

He presses his lips together, his jaw working as he studies her face, and she gives him her best impression of an innocent expression. 

“So you had… questions?”

“Mostly if you still think about the way I made you come.”

He sucks in a breath, a slight flush creeping up over his cheeks. “Rey, you know I can’t—”

“Oh, you meant about the assignment,” she corrects. “Yes. That too.”

Another hard swallow. “What did you want to ask?” He takes a deep breath. “About the assignment, I mean.”

She takes a step to the side, slowly sinking into the chair across from him. His eyes flick to the door behind her, and she’s almost certain he’s thinking about the way she’d locked the door before she stepped away from it. 

“I was wondering what your thoughts were on the month Ash spent in Yorkshire with Christabel.”

His eyes go a little wider. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She’s careful now, treating him like some skittish animal in danger of fleeing at any moment. Something that is probably not too far from the truth, if she’s being honest. 

“It’s just that it’s clear that they planned this time to sort of act on their feelings for each other,” Rey tells him nonchalantly. “I mean, they basically took a sex vacation.”

Ben makes a soft sound in his throat, one that oddly makes her press her thighs together on the other side of his desk. It’s not fair, she thinks. How oblivious he is to his own appeal. At least when it comes to her.

“I’m not sure that I—” He clears his throat, his tone shifting from too high to something more closely resembling normal. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“I just wonder if you have any particular thoughts on the concept of acting on one’s desires in order to move past them. Do you think that idea has merits today? I think it could make for an… interesting essay topic.”

His lips roll together as if his mouth is too dry, his chest rising and falling just a little more roughly, almost imperceptibly—but Rey notices. 

“I think these are different times,” he starts thickly. “I don’t think that—”

“But if you think about it,” she interrupts. “There were _more_ potential repercussions back then. I mean, Christabel would have been more or less slapped with a scarlet letter if anyone had found out.”

“I think those same repercussions pose a threat today,” he answers pointedly. “For… someone like Christabel.”

“Someone like her?” She leans to prop her hand on her fist, her elbow resting at the edge of his desk. “How do you mean?”

“Someone… with a future,” he says evenly, the determination in his tone offset by the way his eyes rake down the front of her. “Someone who could have that future ruined by a mistake.”

“What if she knows she could be careful? What if she’s weighed the risks?”

“Rey,” he sighs. “I don’t think that you—”

“What if she doesn’t _care,_ Ben?”

She does, really; she’s not stupid by any means—it’s just that she’s sure that she can have her cake and eat it too, as it were. It’s just Ben that needs convincing, she thinks. 

“Rey, you don’t know what you’re saying,” he huffs, abandoning the pretense of their thinly veiled rhetoric. “You can’t actually want to risk—”

“Can you answer something for me?”

He falls quiet, giving her a wary expression. “What?”

It’s the question that’s been weighing on her, the one whose potential answer has her normally unshakeable confidence wavering late at night when her mind has nothing to do but wander. Her eyes move over his furrowed brow and his pursed mouth—steeling her resolve.

“Do you not want me anymore?”

His mouth parts in surprise, clearly taken aback by her direct approach. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” he answers grimly, reaching to adjust his glasses in a nervous manner. “It can’t happen. I’ve told you that.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Professor.”

There’s a quiet intake of air at the casual use of _Professor_ —and she wonders what he might think, if she were to tell him that it affects her just as much as it does him.

“Rey…”

She pushes away from the desk suddenly, rising to her feet to press her hands at the edge and lean over it purposefully. “I just want you to answer the question,” she says firmly. 

His mouth opens and closes and opens again—and she can practically see his mind whirring in some vain attempt to process what’s happening. She thinks her answer is there in his expression, if she were to really assess, but feels a little too emboldened by the clear lack of agreement. 

“I want you to look me in the eyes, and tell me you don’t want me,” she tells him carefully, her hands pulling away from the desk but leaving one finger to trail across the edge as she takes a singular step with the intention of circling around it. “Can you do that?”

He looks a little panicked, eyes wide and pleading—but there’s something underneath too. Something that sends a little swooping sensation in her belly and makes her heart race. 

“Rey, I…”

“Because if you can do that,” she goes on, reaching the corner of his desk and slowly moving onwards to come around the side. “I’ll leave this room, and I’ll never bother you again.”

He doesn’t even attempt to speak, eyes fixed on her moving figure as she comes closer—only a few steps away from where he’s seated behind the desk. 

“But if you can’t”—she’s close now, _so close_ , close enough to see the buttons of his shirt strain across the heavy rise of his chest—“I’m going to touch you again.”

He’s still quiet, _so quiet_ —only the sounds of his ragged breath escaping him as she leans over his body, hands braced on the arms of his desk chair and mouth inches away from his.

She waits a moment, maybe two, eyes searching his eyes for some sign of disagreement and finding none. Her lips curl in victory, and her voice is low as she murmurs, “That’s what I thought.”

And there isn’t a shred of resistance when she softly presses her lips against his—watching his lashes flutter closed and hearing the soft sound in his throat that is like a sigh, almost like _relief._ For a moment she just lingers there, not pressing for more as she lets him adjust and waits to see if he will make the next move. He doesn’t, at least, not at first—not until she reaches carefully to brush the tips of her fingers down the length of his jaw. 

His hands are tentative when his fingers curl against the fabric of her shirt at her sides—but she takes it as an invitation, crawling into his lap as her hands cup his face and his curl over her hips to palm her ass. She quietly urges him to open with a swipe of her tongue, capturing the groan that escapes him as she molds herself to his front. 

Ben kisses her like he’s been thinking about it for days—all tongue and teeth and eager hands moving over her body, and it makes her a little giddy, watching his resolve crumble into nothing. _Feeling_ the way he gives in. 

“I shouldn’t—” His fingers knead her ass through her shorts as her fingers tangle in his hair. “ _We_ shouldn’t—”

“I think we should,” she breathes, nipping at his lower lip. “Besides,” she goes on with a grin. “How else are we going to take care of _this?”_

He gasps when she grinds down on the hard length of him that is pressed between her legs, fingers curling tighter to pull her closer in what feels like an unconscious action. 

“ _Rey.”_

“I said I was going to touch you.” Her lips press softly against his cheek, trailing her fingers down the front of his shirt to rest against the waistband of his jeans, trailing back and forth. “Didn’t I, Professor?”

He shudders, nodding shakily with closed eyes as she pulls away to take in how _wrecked_ he looks. His cheeks are flushed and his mouth is slack—and there’s a throbbing between her legs that she would like to satisfy with his cock deep inside her, but she thinks it feels… cheap somehow, his first time being a quick fuck at his desk. 

But that doesn’t mean she isn’t going to blow his fucking mind before she leaves here.

And she’s well on her way, she thinks, when she slides down the front of him to rest on her knees between his legs. She pushes his chair further from his desk, running her hands over the tops of his thighs as he blinks down at her in a daze.

His eyes go a little wider when she pushes up to reach for the button of his jeans, swallowing thickly as his hands curl tightly around the arms of his chair.

“What are you doing?”

Her lips curl in a sly grin. “Touching you.”

“Rey—” His thighs shift restlessly as she works the button of his jeans apart, moving on to his zipper. “Are you sure you want to—”

“I have”—she wrestles his zipper down, pulling the denim apart to reveal hard cock straining against soft cotton—“thought about touching you again”—she runs her fingers over the thick shape of him for only a brief moment before hooking one into the waistband to tug—“for over a _week_ now.”

He sucks in a breath. “You have?”

“Mhm.” He’s hard and hot in her hand when she pulls him out, his hips jerking a little when she gives him a barely-there stroke. “I have.”

He makes a choked sound when she wraps her fingers around the soft skin wrapped around the head of him, watching as she slides it down and down to reveal the red flush of his glans beneath. 

She leans in—close enough that he can surely feel her breath against his shaft but still hovering an inch away—looking up at his awestruck expression. “No one has ever used their mouth on you. Have they.”

She knows the answer, is pretty sure he _knows_ she knows—but still she enjoys that slow, deliberate shake of his head, that full lower lip that is trapped anxiously between his teeth. 

“That’s a shame,” she sighs, sliding her fingers down his length as a pearly drop of precum beads at his slit. “You have such a pretty dick.”

It’s almost a whine, the sound that escapes him, and Rey feels it between her legs, feeling sort of powerful and thrilled because she’s never felt so fucking _wanted_ as she does right now. 

And it’s barely there, the press of her tongue against the softness of his foreskin that she’s drawn down over the head, just a soft swipe as she flattens it up and over his cockhead to steal that dewy drop of wetness there—but the way Ben reacts, the _sound_ he makes—it feels like so much more. 

It’s still a little foreign, touching someone… _intact_ like he is—but not unpleasant, she finds. She likes the way his skin moves against her tongue, likes the way the hot weight of the head feels like a prize when she delves her tongue beneath. 

Not to mention the way Ben reacts only from this barely-there exploration with her mouth. That feels like a reward all on its own. 

Because his breath sounds like it’s almost hard for him to take it, and his body shifts incessantly like he’s about to come out of his skin, and there’s a steady stream of _ah_ and _fuck_ and _Rey_ falling out of his mouth in a tortured rasp that dances in her ears and only spurs her on _more._

She closes her lips around him to hold him against her tongue, and his head falls back against his chair with a sharp intake of air as she pushes slowly down to the base to let him slide deeper into her mouth. She holds him there as long as she’s able, closing her eyes to focus on breathing through her nostrils as she hums softly around him. 

He’s practically panting when she draws back up, flattening her tongue against the underside of his shaft to end in a deliberate lick at the head. She teases at his slit with the tip of her tongue, enjoying the way it makes him restless, the way he squirms in his chair and grips the arms of it. 

“Have you thought about me like this?” She lays her hand over the denim just beneath his cock, applying a gentle pressure where his balls are. “Up there in class?”

“I—” She mouths lazily at his shaft, following every soft kiss with a swipe of her tongue. “Of course I didn’t—”

“You didn’t?” She pulls away to pump him slowly, not enough to really do anything but enough to keep him squirming restlessly. “You didn’t think about fucking my mouth like this?”

“ _Fuck,_ Rey—”

She lets the flared lip of his glans rest at her lower lip, using her fist to drag it back and forth there slowly. “You didn’t think about coming here?”

His eyes are impossibly wide as he stares down at her, pupils blown to make them appear almost black behind the lenses of his glasses, and yet, somehow they seem to _burn._

“If you tell the truth, Professor,” she coos sweetly, “I’ll let you.” She presses her lips together against his cock as if kissing him there. “I’ll swallow like a good girl if you tell me.”

His grip on the arms of his chair is so tight she can hear the leather straining, and he bites at his lower lip hard enough to bring blood. She can see the way he’s desperate for her to keep going, can feel the steady throb of him against her palm as his cock begs for the release she can give him—and she gives him a gentle squeeze for good measure as a shaky exhale tumbles out of his mouth. 

There’s a second where he hesitates, and Rey doesn’t move, doesn’t give him _anything_ as she waits—but the word falls out of his mouth like he can’t help it, like a breath he’s been holding.

“ _Yes,”_ he admits tightly. “I did.”

She smiles against his cock, pressing a lingering kiss there in reward. “So did I.”

“You did?”

“I thought about sucking you off like this under your desk,” she tells him huskily. “I thought about all those people watching you try and teach not knowing your dick was in my mouth.”

“ _Jesus,_ Rey,” he hisses, thrusting his hips slightly when she swirls her tongue around his cockhead. 

And she could keep teasing him like this, she thinks; she could only give him the barest of touches until he’s begging her for more—but she finds she’s a little restless too, wanting to watch him come apart and know that she’s the _only_ one who ever has. 

So she wraps her fingers tightly around the base of him, letting him slide past her lips and over her tongue as she takes as much of him into her mouth as she’s able. She feels the head of him nearly in her _throat_ —and her eyes water as she struggles not to gag, some part of her wanting to _ruin_ him for anyone else, for reasons she can’t quite put into words. 

She keeps her grip tight when she pulls her mouth back up the length of him, dragging her fist up to meet it when she pushes back down again. She keeps a slow pace at first, finding her rhythm—but when she becomes used to the thick weight of his cock she moves faster, pushing up on her knees and practically making a show of it as she works him roughly with her mouth and her hand. 

He’s just as eager now as he was that first night; he’s all needy sounds and restless hands that can’t seem to decide where they want to go—and she nods in encouragement when his fingers press gently against her hair, taking him deep as his palm comes to rest at the crown of her head. His fingers wind through her hair as if combing through it, and above her his breath sounds ragged, as if he can’t seem to catch it. 

There is saliva at the corners of her mouth that keeps him wet, that makes that heady _shlip_ of his skin moving under her hand more pronounced—and she can feel a sticky wet between her legs, still sort of wants to climb into his lap and get herself off with his pretty dick deep inside—but she’s determined now. 

She’s going to fucking _ruin_ him. 

“Rey,” he pants. “Oh, God. _Rey.”_

She can feel how close he is—can tell by the twitch against her tongue, the way he almost seems to _swell_ impossibly further—and she works him faster, sucks _harder._

His fingers tangle in her hair in a way she doesn’t think he even realizes, but she doesn’t mind the slight sting. It’s a victory, it means he’s _right there_ —and she hollows her cheeks to keep a tight suction at his cockhead, working her fist up and down his wet shaft at a pace that makes her wrist hurt. 

Every breath he takes now ends on an airy, needy sound that makes her press her thighs tighter together, and she closes her eyes just as she feels that first spasm just as she feels that first hot splash of his cum spilling over her tongue. 

She holds him tight at the base as she takes all of him she can fit inside her mouth, swallowing around him as he comes noisily, holding him deep inside until he goes still, until his cock lays heavy and spent against her tongue. 

Even after, she keeps her lips tight for one last pull before she lets him fall from her mouth, swiping her tongue along the underside to crest under the head and collect anything she might have missed. 

She cleans him from her lower lip with a slow swipe of her tongue as she looks up at him after, and Ben watches all of it with wild eyes, looking thoroughly debauched as his chest heaves beneath the buttons of his shirt. 

He doesn’t move as she rises from the floor, as she slides her hands over his thighs and up his abdomen to curl under his jaw—titling up his face to lean over him and press her lips to his. He melts into it with a fluttering of his lashes and a soft sound in his chest, and she lingers there for a moment after, enjoying this soft moment where he isn’t pretending or hiding behind his scruples.

He still looks dazed when she pulls away, his eyes hooded and his mouth parted slightly. “What about—” His voice sounds hoarse and thick, and he clears his throat before trying again. “You didn’t—”

“Next time,” she promises, leaving another peck at his mouth. 

He doesn’t argue about a next time, and she tucks this away as a small victory. “Don’t worry, Professor,” she tells him sweetly, rubbing her thumb across his lower lip. “This _never_ happened.”

He watches her step away to leave him a sated mess in his desk chair, moving around his desk to gather up her bag before she heads for the door. 

She turns there as she unlocks it to give him a sly grin. “I get off at eleven,” she says directly. “If you can find your way back to the bar.”

She catches wide eyes and parted mouth before she leaves him the way she found him (although slightly more rumpled, admittedly)—closing the door behind her and continuing on down the hall as if she never even stopped.

She’s not worried that he doesn’t come after her, that his door remains silent and closed as she presses onward; she doesn’t have to worry about chasing after him so much now, she thinks. Doesn’t have to worry about creating an opportunity to get what she wants. She thinks about the expression on his face while she was between his legs, of the soft sounds in his throat when she kissed him, and no—she definitely doesn’t think she’ll have to do that at all. 

She thinks Professor Solo will do it for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> she said I’ll swallow like a good girl and Ben’s brain melted out of his ears 🤧


	6. It Never Happened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure Ben is going to go to the bar and end things properly yes quite of course  
>   
> This amazing gif board was gifted to me by [colourisgreen](https://twitter.com/colourisgreen) on Twitter! 😍

He shouldn’t be here.

He knows that, he _absolutely_ does, and yet… here he is. Sitting in his car in the parking lot of Sheev’s and trying to talk himself out of going in. He’s been here for the last thirty minutes, telling himself that he’s only here to explain to her what a mistake it was, what happened in his office today. A mindblowing one, to be sure, but a mistake, nonetheless. 

He’s cemented an iron-clad speech that solidifies that he is the one at fault, that it is _him_ that is responsible for not being stronger willed, and he tells himself that he will repeat it verbatim when ( _if)_ he walks in there, and that he will once and for all put an end to this maddening game of cat and mouse that they’ve fallen into, one where Ben has somehow found himself as the mouse. 

_Can’t be helped,_ he thinks as he finally, _finally_ steps out of his car to slam the door shut behind him.

 _Our attraction to each other is irrelevant,_ he resolves firmly as he stomps across the loose gravel that crunches under his feet. 

_From now on, we will just have to maintain as little contact as necessary,_ he affirms as he roughly grabs for the door handle to pull it open.

And he’s going to tell her all of this, he thinks. He’s going to look her in the eye, and _end_ this, no matter how much that thought makes his stomach twist. No matter how much his thoughts are full of her. No matter how much he can still _feel_ her—hands and tongue and warm breath still ghosting along his cock that twitches even now at the memory—he knows he has to finally put this to bed. Not in so many words, but _still._ He _will._

But he absolutely forgets his train of thought when he steps into the bar. 

When he _sees_ her. 

She’s leaning over the bar, hair loose and soft-looking around her face, and for a moment he catches himself just standing in the doorway—eyes roaming over soft curves and gentle swells that are all wrapped up in a tight black tank top. He swallows thickly, clinging to his resolve. However little he has left. 

She notices him approach before he can reach her, and it probably shouldn’t affect him the way it does, her mouth quirking ever so slightly like she expected him, like it was _inevitable_ , him coming here. Maybe it was. Ben can’t be sure. 

“Evening, Professor,” she greets warmly. “Can I get you anything?”

He purses his lips, not bothering to sit on the stool on the other side of the bar. “I’m not here to drink.”

“Oh?” She leans on her elbow, propping her chin against her fist. “Probably for the best.” Her lips curl. “Since we’re closing soon.” A wink that makes his throat tight. “It’s a school night, after all.”

“Rey,” he tries, his voice a little less strong than he might like. “I came to talk about what happened earlier.”

She blinks innocently, still smiling. “What happened earlier?”

“You _know_ what happened,” he stresses.

“Do I?” The way she leans leaves an ample gap at the neckline of her tank top, and it’s tempting, _too_ tempting, to let his gaze fix there. “Maybe you should remind me.”

He presses his lips together. “Rey.”

“ _Oh,”_ she says with exaggeration. “You mean”—she lowers her voice conspiratorially—“when you came in my mouth?” 

He swallows around the growing lump in his throat, his mouth going dry. “Y-yes,” he manages. “That.”

“Of course, Professor,” she simpers. “We can talk about that.”

_Professor._

It shouldn’t affect him like this, but it _does_ , because it’s _her._

“I know that what… happened might have been misleading—”

“You mean the way you were moaning when my mouth was on your dick?”

“—but the fact still remains that I _am_ your Professor, and I—”

“You know I’d let you come somewhere else, if you’d stop being stubborn.”

“—the bottom line is we _can’t_ keep doing this.”

He’s breathing a little hard now, and Rey just stares at him passively as he tries to cling to the little bit of control that he has left. Even now her mouth is pink and soft-looking, and that urge to wrap his hands around her jaw, to pull her in and kiss her senseless—it’s still very much there. But it doesn’t change the fact. 

“So you just”—her voice is flat and business-like—“want to pretend it never happened? All of it? Really?”

“I…” His brow furrows, those words actually the farthest of the truth, but it doesn’t matter, he thinks. It could ruin him, if someone found out. More importantly, it could ruin _her._ “I think we have to.”

Her expression remains passive, her eyes move slowly over the lines of his face. “Never happened, huh?”

“Look, Rey, it isn’t… you.” He frowns, hating every word of this but knowing it’s necessary. “I think it’s fairly obvious by now how much I wish things were different. Who knows? Maybe after you graduate, you—” His ears heat. “N-not that I’m saying you’d even want to—I just meant that I—I mean, if things were different, I would—”

“You wanna dance?”

He blinks back at her dazedly, confused by the topic change. “What?”

“Dance,” she echoes. “You owe me a dance, I think.”

I—” His mouth opens and shuts only to open again. “I’m not much of a dancer.”

“You weren’t much of a _getting my dick sucked-_ er but you did that okay.” His cheeks heat, and it amazes him that she’s smiling despite everything. “Come on, Professor. Dance with me.”

She’s already crossing around the bar before he can manage to respond, and in seconds she’s sidling up beside him. He can’t help the way his eyes flick down to cutoff denim that gives way to shapely thighs that _just_ hint at the delicate little tendrils that curl from what he knows is an intricate flower across her thigh. One he’s imagined pressing his tongue to for over a _week_ now.

“I—”

She holds out her hand in offering. “One dance?”

The soft music still plays overhead, the opening lines of Journey’s _Faithfully_ crooning over the old speakers. Ben should say no, surely—and he knows that. Knows it’s dangerous to keep going along with her, to keep _giving in_ , but just as every moment since he’s met her—he’s finding it incredibly hard to say no.

So he takes the hand she’s offering, foolishly, probably, letting her pull him from the stool and lead him out to the empty floor. There are only a handful of other patrons still littered about the space around them at their various tables, but when Rey pulls him close to loop her arms around his neck, beginning to sway—Ben can almost imagine that it’s just them. That they’re the only two people in the room. 

He lets her move him in time with the melody, and for a moment she says nothing, and neither does he—for a moment he pretends that this is a normal date, one of many. He pretends it's still that morning after she touched him, one where there was still the possibility that she was going to be something good in his life. 

Her fingertips brush at the base of his neck, scratching lightly at his hair there. “You know… as much as I like your pretty dick…” His cock twitches in his jeans, and he bites at the inside of his cheek. “I like _you_ too, you know.”

“Rey, I—”

“Do you like me? Really? Or do you just want to fuck me?”

He frowns, letting his lips close as he considers, thinking about the night he first met her. How she’d made him laugh, how she’d actually thought he was funny. But it’s not just that, he thinks, it’s her wit and her smile and all these minor little details he’s slowly been learning, all of it coming down to—

“I like you,” he says softly. “Just you.”

Her lips curl into a shy smile, and it’s beautiful, just like she is, but it doesn’t _matter_ because—

“But Rey, it doesn’t matter,” he sighs. “Because nothing’s changed. We have to just move on. We have to pretend nothing happened. At least—”

Her fingertips are at his mouth suddenly, shushing him. “I get it,” she tells him quietly. “It never happened.”

And he hates it, _all_ of this, so he says nothing, when she leans her head against his shoulder. He lets her continue to move him with the music, mouth closed as it plays. They stay like that while the music goes on above them, and he lets his hands curl over her hips to enjoy the warmth there, closing his eyes as his cheek rests against her hair and wondering what sort of twisted karma led to the perfect girl falling into his lap only for her to be out of reach.

It isn’t until the ending notes of the piano fade that she finally pulls away, looking up at him. It strikes him all over again how stunning she is, how much he fucking _wants_ her—and so it’s easy, to keep still when she presses up on her toes a little, when her lips brush against his for a soft kiss. He tells himself to pull away even as he doesn’t—tells himself that he shouldn’t allow this to happen even as he _does._

He opens his mouth when her tongue slides across his lower lip, and his hands seem to move of their own accord as they slide over her hips to press against her spine, to mold her closer. He can feel every warm inch of her molded to his body, and his eyes drift closed as the heavy pleasure of her body and her mouth leave him dizzy. 

“Shouldn’t,” he mumbles into her mouth.

Her tongue catches the word only to place it gently back against his. “Mhm.”

“We can’t—”

“Never happened,” she murmurs against his lips, her teeth nipping there.

There’s a hazy sensation in his head when she pulls away, one that comes only from her, he thinks, and he can’t seem to make himself form actual words in this moment. Can’t seem to do _anything_ but blink dazedly back at her pink mouth that still hovers only inches away. 

“I _do_ like you,” she whispers again.

Ben swallows, chest tight and stomach flipping—knowing this is the moment when he should walk away. That if he doesn't do it now, he won’t be able to.

But he doesn’t.

Because he can’t seem to.

More importantly, because truthfully, he doesn't _want_ to.

Her eyes dip to his mouth, biting at her lower lip. “Do you wanna go do something else that never happened?”

 _Say no,_ his brain screams. _You can’t._

He repeats this to himself at least a dozen times on the way up to her apartment.

* * *

He thought he might talk himself out of it, in the fifteen minutes or so it had taken to clear the bar, to lock it up, but all his good sense seems to have rushed out the window. It’s made worse by the way she starts kissing him the moment her apartment door shuts behind her—pulling him close by the lapels of his jacket as she moves her lips against his.

Even when she pulls away she’s still smiling in that way that makes it hard to think—pulling him towards the bed as she backs him into her makeshift bedroom. She’s reaching for the button of his jeans when he stops her, one hand wrapping around her wrist to still her efforts as she looks up at him with concern. 

“I want…” He presses his lips together briefly. “Can I undress you? This time?”

Her smile is slow, and sweet, making his heart race a little faster with every second it takes to creep across her face. It’s just that it’s obvious now, that he can’t escape her, that he can’t keep pretending that he _wants_ to, and if he’s going to do this, if _they’re_ going to—he wants to savor it. 

Her hands fall away just as he reaches shakily for the hem of her tank, and she raises her arms in acquiescence as he slowly inches the fabric up and over her head. He’s holding his breath as he pulls it away, transfixed by the sheer black lace of her bralette that barely covers the tight little points of her nipples that press against it. He drops her shirt on the floor without even sparing it a glance—one hand reaching unconsciously towards her chest and only stilling an inch away when he catches himself. His eyes flick up to hers in search of permission, and he feels the soft brush of her fingers against the back of his hand as she urges his to cover her, to palm her through her bra. 

She’s pushing up on her toes again just as his thumb slides tentatively across her nipple, and there’s a quiet little gasp that he catches with his mouth, trying to memorize the shape of her against his fingers. He likes the way one of her perfect little tits fits entirely in his palm, and there’s a sudden urge to see them, to feel them against his tongue. 

He can see that thin line of script peeking out from the strap when he rests his forehead against hers to look down, and he lets his thumb trace there curiously. “What does it say?”

“Take this off me,” she tells him, “and you’ll find out.”

She holds his gaze as his fingers trace the edge just under her breasts, as they tuck underneath, as they begin to roll the fabric up and up and _up_ until that too is being tugged over her head. His heart hammers wildly in his chest as he drinks in the sight of hers, hands shaking a little now as they settle at her ribs to slide higher. 

It’s a mixture of unsteady legs and a desire to see her properly when he lowers to sit at the edge of her bed, fingers still wrapped around her ribs as his eyes roam over her bare chest. 

“You’re…” He draws in a heavy breath just to blow it out slowly. “You’re beautiful.”

His peek upwards is rewarded with her smile, eyes raking down the front of her to settle just beneath the underside of her breast where his fingers rest. He can see the little wrench she told him about the night they first met there at her ribs, and he rubs his thumb there to trace it before leaning in slightly. 

He doesn’t ask for permission this time, when his lips find the little inked mark at her ribs—resting there softly as her fingers wind their way through his hair. He hums quietly in his throat as he mouths a little higher, having no other real intention in mind but to trace the shape of her with his mouth. 

He can see it now, that thin line of script inked just over her breast, tracing it with the tip of his finger.

_excuse us while we sing to the sky_

He quirks an eyebrow up at her, and she just shrugs. “I’ll teach you about twenty one pilots later.”

He’s not sure what that means, but it doesn’t matter, not really, not when she’s letting him touch her like he is. He likes the sound she makes when his lips move over the swell of her breast, even more so when his tongue dips out experimentally to circle her nipple. He likes the weight of it against his tongue, the way it seems to tighten with his touch, the way Rey’s breath catches when he wraps his lips around the taut little bud to suck. 

It’s a powerful feeling, him being the reason for her to make the delicate sounds she’s making, and he winds an arm around her back to flatten his hand against her spine, to bring her _closer_ —the hand still palming her breast beginning to squeeze to bring more of her into his mouth. 

He’s content to do this for as long as she’ll let him—to tongue the slick little peak just like this—but he’s interrupted by a tugging at his hair, an urging to release her with a wet sound as he blinks up at her. 

“I wanna see you too,” she tells him throatily, one hand tugging at his jacket. “Little uneven here.”

And it’s still a bit of a novelty, that someone who looks like _her_ would want _more_ of _him_ —and he puts just enough space between them so that she can ease the jacket from his shoulders, so that she can pull it away. He watches her brush her fingers against his elbow patches when he’s free of it, smiling. 

“Do you know how weirdly hot I find these?” She laughs a little under her breath. “Only you.”

_Only you._

What a heady thought.

She drops the garment to the floor as she moves on to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one and bending to press her lips to each little bit of skin she uncovers. Ben’s fingers curl into the fabric of her quilt, his mouth slack and his breath ragged as she continues to touch him. His heart is hammering wildly in his chest by the time she’s easing the shirt over his shoulders—holding his breath now as her fingers move lightly across his chest.

His hands reach to rest against her hips, squeezing there lightly. “Can I…?

Her answer comes with a soft press of her mouth against his, with the fingers of one hand curling into his hair as her other reaches between them for the button of her shorts. He hears the metallic _pop_ just before the scrape of her zipper as she drags it down, and then it’s easy, so _easy_ to tug the denim, to work it down her thighs to find bare skin beneath. She lets her shorts fall to her feet before she kicks them away, and he’s already touching, already exploring—fingers trailing over the large sunflower at her thigh like he hadn’t had the chance to that first time. 

It’s amazing to him how _beautiful_ he finds every part of her.

He lets his lips fall there also, lets them trace the shape of the petals and the vines that creep up to curl at her hip, his fingers tucking beneath the band of her underwear as he gives a slow tug. She parts her thighs to let him pull these down too—down and down until there isn’t a stitch left, until every part of her is bared to him. 

He can feel himself gaping a little when he curiously teases his fingers between her legs, making some needy sound when they come back—

“Wet,” he marvels. “You’re so _wet.”_

_And that's not all._

"This—" He swallows as his thumb brushes against the little silver ring he hadn't noticed last time, the tiny glint of a gemstone dangling beneath. His throat goes dry and his eyes widen, his brain not knowing how to process what he's seeing, how fucking _enticing_ it is, this thing he hadn't even known he could ever be into. "This is..."

"Like it?" One corner of her mouth quirks. "It feels good when you touch it."

He wants to, _fuck,_ does he want to, but her fingers are curling into his belt loops, urging him up from the bed. “Take these off.”

He doesn’t hesitate to do as she asks, working his zipper apart even as she pulls at his face for a kiss. Her tongue traces his lower lip before it dips inside, her hand leaving his jaw to delve into his boxer briefs and palm his already-aching cock as he tries to work off the rest of his clothes. She’s still stroking him lazily when his jeans and his underwear fall into a pile at the floor, his hands finding her hips, curling around them to palm her ass as he pulls her against him, trapping her hand and his cock between them. The head smears a sticky trail at her belly, her warm skin making it twitch in anticipation.

“Tell me, Professor,” she teases as she gives his cock a rough squeeze. “Have you ever made a girl come before?”

He makes a strangled sound in his throat, giving a jerky shake of his head.

“Get on the bed, Solo.” Her lips curl against his. “Let me teach _you_ a few things.”

She pushes him back until his ass hits her bed, crawling over him as he scoots backwards to fall against her pillows. She throws a leg over his hips until she’s straddling his waist, pushing against his abdomen with her tiny little hands. His cock juts up stiffly towards his navel, trapped between her legs, and she lowers to _just barely_ brush against it, sliding the warmth of her cunt down his length as his breath catches.

He looks up at her wide wide eyes, and she smiles down at him as she leans a little to her her fingers curl around the rim of his glasses. "Can you see without these?"

"I'm near-sighted," he tells her.

"Don't worry." Her smile hitched up a fraction as she pulls them away. "We're going to be very close." She curls her body until she can let her lips brush against his just before she leans to set them on her bedside table before resuming her position, straddled over him. “Do you want to touch me, Ben?”

He manages a nod, his hands smoothing over the tops of her thighs. She lets her palm cover his knuckles, curling her fingers to pull his hand away, to bring it between her legs. He pulls his lip between his teeth when he presses his fingertips between her folds, exploring there. Everything is so soft and wet and _warm_ —and she sighs airily as he curls them, as he prods at the slick little hole to let the tip of one finger slip inside.

She rocks her hips as her lashes flutter, nodding as he lets that same finger push deeper, feeling the wet warmth of her inner walls clenching around it and imagining how much _better_ it will feel with his _cock_ buried inside.

“You can—” She swivels her hips. “You can give me another.”

He does as she asks, adding his middle finger to his index to stretch her, to fill her _up._

“ _Fuck,”_ she breathes. “Now here,” she tells him, fingers trailing down her belly to spread the lips of her cunt. She circles the pink little bundle of her clit, biting at her lip as the tip of her finger teases the silver piercing that he's still trying to wrap his head around. “Touch me here.”

He’s nodding even as he presses his thumb against her, rolling the swollen bud under the pad as her breath catches. The piercing is a cool contrast to the warm wet of her cunt, and he applies a gentle pressure there as her breath catches. Every time he touches it she _grips_ his fingers, sucking them in deeper, holding them _tighter_ —and Ben continues to tease the little bundle of nerves just to feel it more. 

“It’s so wet,” he rasps. “Fuck, you’re so _wet.”_

“Keep touching me like that,” she huffs, rocking her hips to ride his hand. “Make me come.”

He circles his thumb faster against her clit, letting her sounds guide him. “Like this?”

“ _Yes,”_ she hisses. “Just like that.” Every undulation of her hips smears the wetness of her cunt over his hand to drip lower, sliding over his cock that twitches with need now, that _begs_ to be inside her. He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anything in his life the way he wants to be inside her. “ _Fuck,_ Ben.”

But the way he’s touching her, the way he’s making her _feel_ —there’s merit in this too. Because she’s making sounds, ones of absolute pleasure, and it’s the most gratifying thing he’s ever felt, knowing _he_ did that to her.

Her lips part in a wordless cry as her head falls back, and Ben pushes his fingers deeper even though his wrist aches; he pets at her clit with rapid strokes despite the discomfort, taking cues from the way her breath quickens, the way her body starts to shake. 

It takes him by surprise, when she finally comes; her insides constrict in tiny little tremors that squeeze his fingers tight, and she gets warmer, _wetter_ —practically soaking his hand with a gush as she makes desperate little sounds. Even after, when she’s dreamy and soft and trembling—Ben keeps touching her, keeps drawing out her orgasm if only to keep _feeling_ it.

Her body curls in a heavy slump when it seems to be too much, her chest heaving and her belly trapping his arm and making it difficult to keep touching her. She curls until his fingers fall out of her, the sticky wet of her trailing along the inside of his thigh as he turns his face to press his lips to her cheek, her temple, her hair.

“I knew those gigantic hands of yours would be good for something,” she laughs against his chest. She turns up her face to give him a lazy grin, leaning until she can brush her lips against his. “Not bad for your first try, eh?”

His free hand palms the back of her head, pulling her in closer as he lets his tongue push inside her mouth. She moves enough to free his trapped hand, and he wastes no time in curling it over her hip, her ass—touching her everywhere he can reach as she rolls her hips against his. 

She swallows down his gasp when her cunt slides along the length of his cock, making him feel impossibly harder, _needier._ “Rey,” he grunts. “That’s—don’t we need—”

“Birth control,” she murmurs, nipping at his lower lip before she grins. “It’s your first time after all,” she murmurs. “Don’t you think you should really feel it?”

He shudders at just the _thought_ —but she’s already reaching between them, fingers wrapping around his cock to drag the head of him through the wet mess of her slit, teasing at her entrance. 

“ _Fuck,”_ he grinds out. “That’s—”

He can’t really seem to formulate whatever _this_ is—because she’s pushing back against him now, pushing to let his cockhead ease past her entrance and _just_ slip inside. Ben’s eyes roll back as his mouth falls open, staring unseeing up at the ceiling as the sensation leaves him effectively mute, because the _way she fucking feels._

“Christ, you’re big,” she mutters through gritted teeth. “Fucking waste you’ve never gotten to use it.” He feels her lips at his jaw, feels the curve of her smile as she takes another inch inside. “More for me, I guess.”

He’s only halfway inside her when his hips jerk seemingly of their own accord, ramming the rest of the way in as she makes a sound of surprise.

“I’m sorry,” he huffs, the sound pained because she’s full ( _so fucking full of him)_ —every wet inch wrapped around his cock as he tries to remember how to breathe. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she tells him tightly. “Just... let me get used to it, okay?”

He thinks he nods against her throat as he buries his face there, his hands gripping either side of her ass as he holds tight, trying to resist the urge to thrust. Something that comes instinctually, apparently. Even now he’s still shifting slightly, miniscule little movements that he can’t seem to help, and her breathy little sounds against his ear only make things that much _worse._

“You feel different,” she mumbles, pushing back until she’s seated in his lap, bracing herself with her hands on his chest. 

Between her legs he can see her cunt stretched tight (because he’s inside her, he’s fucking _inside_ her)—the base of his cock _just_ visible where she’s spread over his hips. The little blue gemstone that dangles from the tiny silver hoop glints between her folds, and there is an urge to touch it with his tongue, to feel the way it moves there. He’s trying to remember what she was saying, but the feel of her, the way she _looks_ right now—it’s a lot, he’s finding. 

“Different?”

She nods, biting her lip as she rocks her hips slowly. “Good different.” Another slow rock that makes his grind his teeth. “I can feel the way it slides.”

“And you”—he’s never been more grateful for his parents to have left his damned dick alone—“like it?”

A slow smile. “It’s good, Ben.”

It’s already a struggle, holding on like he is after having touched her so much, because he thinks he could come right now, just from this, if he really wanted to. 

But he doesn’t. Want to. He wants this to last as long as possible.

His hips jerk again when her cunt squeezes around him, bouncing her body in his lap as she sucks in a breath. His fingers grip her thighs tight where they’ve slid, trying to get himself in check.

“Sorry,” he manages tightly.

She shakes her head. “Don’t be. I’m getting used to you.” That same easy grin. “You’re not a virgin anymore, Professor.” 

“I’m not,” he marvels, realizing that a twenty-eight year old part of his life is now over. 

Her eyes crinkle at the corners. “Worth the wait?”

“You have”—he clenches his lips together as her walls flutter around him—“ _no idea.”_

“Mm.” She gives him a deliberate squeeze, and his breath hisses between his teeth. “I might.” She leans until she can kiss down his jaw. “I know you probably need to move,” she tells him. “But let me do the work first. Wanna come while you’re inside. Let me come, and then you can fuck me how you need to. Okay?”

He’s nodding even before she’s done speaking, because he would let her do anything, _anything_ she wants to. But it is hard, no pun intended, when she begins to lift off his cock, when she lowers back down to fuck him slowly. She makes mewled sounds as she sets her own rhythm, rocking back against his cock in steady strokes as her breath huffs against his ear. 

“Feels good?” He can feel her hand snaking between them, can feel it moving between her legs, against his stomach. “Does it?”

“So good,” he breathes heavily. “It’s so—”

“Don’t come,” she urges. “ _Don’t come._ Just let me— _fuck._ ” Her hand works faster between her legs. “Almost there. _Almost there.”_

He grits his teeth as he tries to do as she asks, as he tries his damndest _not_ to come even though there is _nothing_ he would like more than to do just _that_ right now. His eyes drift closed, and his hips shift restlessly, seeking more friction, his body desperate for the end even though _he_ would like to prolong this sweet torture for as long as humanly possible.

“Close. _So close._ Just—just a little—”

His nails bite into her skin when her insides start to convulse, a spasming inside her that makes her tighter, so much _tighter_ —so snug that it feels like there’s no room left. He feels that same clenching around his cock that she’d given his fingers, that same gush that leaks out to make a sticky mess between them—and it takes everything he has not to move, to do as she asked and let her lead.

Every muscle in his body feels strung too tight, and his breath comes in labored pants across her cheek, because this beautiful creature just _came_ on his _cock_ , and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt anything better.

And he hasn’t even come yet.

She kisses his throat sweetly, her little fingers teasing at his sides now, and Ben holds her tight, willing his body to hold on, to be _still._

“You wanna fuck me now, Professor?” Her tongue slides against his pulse point. “You might need to get on top. You’ve already sort of worn me out.”

And Ben doesn’t need to be told twice—she’s so _tiny_ after all—wrapping his arms around her and rolling them both until she’s pressed beneath him, her arms looped around his neck as she spreads her thighs to make room for him. 

“Hey,” she says with a sated smile. 

He blinks down at her in awe, eyes roaming down the front of her. “Hey.”

“You can move now,” she tells him.

His mouth drifts open, brow furrowing. “I’m not sure—”

“Just do what feels good.” She leans up to press her lips to the corner of his mouth. “Just _move,_ Ben.”

He nods heavily before his forehead comes to rest against hers, giving an experimental thrust in and out of her as his breath catches. “Holy _fuck.”_

“Just like that,” she urges, thighs pressing against his hips. “ _Harder._ I can take it.”

He braces on his knees as he slams his hips against hers with more force, feeling her fingers gripping at his shoulders now as she gasps with it—and Ben props his hand against the bed as he does it again and again and _again._ He can't help the way his fingers trail down her belly, the way the tips tease at the little piercing he's becoming fascinated with, that he _definitely_ wants to explore later—touching her over-sensitized clit with light little strokes, feeling the way she _fists_ him inside when he does.

And he’s never felt anything like this, like _her_ —driven by instinct and the warmth of her cunt as he finds a punishing rhythm, one that is messy and probably too rough, but Rey just holds on, just lets him move inside her in whatever way he needs to. 

She kisses his cheeks and his mouth and his throat—her nipples brushing against his chest as sounds Ben’s never made start to burble up in his chest, little more than heat and sensation now. His mouth falls open against her shoulder, and his teeth find purchase there as that hot pressure starts to churn in his balls, as it blooms outward to fill his cock that swells and _swells_ , and he—

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck.”_

He wraps his arms around and underneath her to hold her tightly against him as he bottoms out that final time, his words muffled where his teeth still rest against her shoulder. He moans as his body starts to shake, as his cock twitches deep inside to pump her full of him—his pulse racing in his ears to block out everything else.

He can’t say when it starts to die down, when sounds start to bleed back in and he remembers where he is, hell, _who_ he is—unlatching his teeth from her shoulder dazedly as he blinks down at the mark he’s made. He pulls away slowly to give her a sheepish expression, pressing his lips together as he tries to swallow past the dryness of his throat.

“Sorry,” he rasps. “I didn’t mean—”

She pushes his sweat-dampened tendrils of his hair from his forehead, shaking her head. “It’s fine. How do you feel?”

“How do I…” He huffs out a laugh. “I don’t think they have words for how I feel.”

“Oh, come on now,” she teases. “An English Professor with no words?”

His lips quirk. “Transcendent comes close.”

“Now you’re just showing off,” she laughs. 

His eyes move over her face then, the gravity of it all beginning to crash down on him. He still knows wholly that they shouldn't have done this, even knows that there could be consequences, that it’s _likely,_ even—but he can’t bring himself to care about them at this moment. Right now, he can’t seem to think about anything but her. 

He lowers to brush his lips against hers, hips shifting slightly just to feel the warmth of her around his softening cock. _God,_ he could get addicted to this. There’s a good chance he already _is._

“Thank you,” he murmurs into her mouth.

He feels her lips quirk. “No one’s ever thanked me for sex before.”

“Is that weird?”

“Maybe.” She shrugs one shoulder. “But I sort of like your weird.”

He supposes he can’t really ask for more than that.

He pulls out of her with a wince, already wanting to do _that_ again—but instead he pulls her against him, rolling to his back until she’s draped over his chest, her chin propped on her hands that rest there. For a little while she just traces her finger there, head rising and falling a little with his breath that is beginning to even out. 

“Can I ask you something?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“Why didn’t you ever… you know.”

“Oh.” His brow knits. “Honestly? No good reason. I’ve always just been so wrapped up in school, and then my job, and then there’s the fact that I’m, you know, _me_ , and—”

“What does that mean?”

“Rey.” He purses his lips. “Come on. I’m still not _entirely_ sure why… someone like you would be so… infatuated with me.”

“Infatuated,” she laughs, genuinely, like he’s made a joke. “I mean, besides the fact that you’re hot?”

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Come on.”

“You’re built like a double wide with a dick to match, and I haven’t been able to stop staring at your mouth since we met. Trust me, Ben,” she hmphs. “I’m not making a grand sacrifice here.”

“Of course not,” he mutters, pursing his lips.

She shifts her weight, hooking her leg over his until the warmth between her thighs presses against his. “I could show you again,” she croons, her fingers tickling down his belly to let her nails scratch at the thin line of hair trailing down from his navel. “If you’re still not sure.”

His brows shoot up in surprise. “Again?”

“I figure you’ve got at least a decade of missed sex pent up in there.” Her fingers push lower until they’re brushing against the base of his cock that twitches with interest. “We’d better get a jump on that if we’re ever going to catch you up.” Her lips press to the underside of his jaw. “Besides, I need to show you just how _infatuated_ I am.”

He doesn’t have a chance to protest with the way her mouth finds his, the way her tongue eases into his mouth as she pulls him closer. Even if he knows he probably should, even if it’s still the _right thing to do_ —Ben isn’t protesting anymore.

Not, if he’s being honest, that he ever really wanted to.

He slides his hands over her hips as he pulls her closer.

 _Well,_ he thinks. _If I’m going to hell anyway..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the virgin professor was a virgin no more 🤧


	7. I’ll Teach You Anything You Want, Professor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LISTEN I KNOW HOW LONG ITS BEEN DONT SAY ANYTHING IDK WHY IT TOOK 8000 YEARS FOR JUST GARBAGE PORN HAVENT THE FAINTEST I AM SORRY THAT IS ALL I CAN OFFER

He’s smothering her a little when she wakes up—his body a warm, heavy weight against hers with thick arms wrapped around her to cage her in and one large thigh draped over hers to complete her prison. Rey finds very quickly she doesn’t mind much.

She peeks up at his sleeping face that seems somehow younger like this, his full mouth parted slightly and his lashes fanning against his cheeks as his breath leaves him in quiet little rushes. Her hands are trapped against his chest, and she spreads her fingers against the taut skin there before she leans in to let her lips find his throat. 

She kisses him with soft little presses of her mouth, working up his neck and over his jaw before she can let her lips brush against his in a soft caress. 

“Mm.” His arms tighten around her, his chest puffing out as his back arches slightly in a stretch. He cracks open one eye to catch her sly grin, his own lips curling. “Morning.”

“And how do we feel this morning?” She lets her lips trail across his cheek. “Different?”

He huffs out a laugh through his nostrils. “Maybe a little.”

“That sounds like I didn’t do a thorough enough job deflowering you.”

His laugh is more of a bark now. “ _Deflowering?”_

“Mhm.” She grins against his jaw where her mouth lingers. “Villainous, really.”

“Oh, is it?”

“Yes. Imagine. Stealing the virtue of a poor, helpless maiden? A dainty thing, really, hardly even—”

She yelps in surprise when he rolls them suddenly, arms caging her in on either side of her torso as he gives her an amused expression.

“Hysterical,” he murmurs, eyes raking down the front of her. 

She’s quickly realizing that she really likes it when he looks at her like this—like a part of him still can’t quite believe that this is _real,_ like there’s nothing else he’d rather do _but_ look at her. It’s a little heady, the way he looks at her. 

“The last time I fell asleep in your bed, you weren’t here when I woke up,” he points out.

“Yeah. That ended up making it entirely too hard to get you back here,” she laughs. “I figured I’d better stick around this morning and make sure you don’t run off.”

“Right.” His hand reaches to curl at her hip, thumb stroking back and forth across the flowers inked there. “Definitely an apt way to keep me distracted.”

His breath catches when her hand lifts to let her fingers tease his half-hard cock that hangs between his legs—a smile at her mouth that comes from affecting him so easily. “You think so?”

“I—” He doesn’t sound very collected now, the word coming out with force as he tilts his hips to press further against her hand that curls around him. “ _Rey.”_

“Morning sex would be a good thing to cross off the list,” she hums playfully. 

His fingers curl at her nape so that he can duck and slant his mouth across hers, the weight of his body settling to cover her even as she strokes him to make him harder, the head of his cock sliding against the soft skin of her thigh.

He holds her hip tight as his lips move over hers, and it takes hardly any coaxing until he’s shifting to settle his weight between her thighs—cock nudging at her entrance eagerly like he can’t help it, like he’s _desperate_ for it. 

And Rey… Rey finds she really likes this too.

* * *

He falls back asleep after, and she lets him, considering how many life changes he’s undergone in the last twenty-four hours—waiting until his breathing steadies in soft sighs of sleep before she untangles herself from him. She lingers at the edge of the bed only to grin down at his sleeping figure; he just makes her bed seem so _small_ with as large as he is. Just another thing about the not-so-virgin professor she likes.

She slips into an oversized t-shirt and hops into her underwear before she pads across her studio apartment to start rifling through her fridge—deciding that the least she can do is make breakfast considering the way she dragged him to her bed. Not, she thinks, that he minded very much. 

There’s a pleasant soreness between her legs that makes her smile as she pulls out eggs and milk, a soft throbbing that comes from his eagerness and his _energy_ —leaving flashes of memory sparking up in her subconscious as she reaches into a cabinet for flour.

Rey is not naive to how reckless she’s being, is not ignorant of the consequences that could come from what they’re doing—it’s just that she can’t seem to bring herself to _care_ about them. For the life of her she can’t decide what it is that makes her so _interested_ in Ben Solo, but it’s enough to have her not worried in the slightest as she begins to mix ingredients together.

They can be careful. Everything will be just fine.

She doesn’t know how long she works before she hears a soft groan somewhere behind her, and she grins into the bowl she’s mixing as it continues to sound for several seconds with Ben’s stretch. She doesn’t look back as she makes a well in the center of her bowl to add the egg and milk—listening to the quiet sounds of his shuffling feet as he most likely makes himself a little more presentable.

His footsteps draw closer as he lumbers across her apartment, and she can almost feel the weight of his large frame looming just behind her before his thick arms encircle her waist and his chin tucks against her shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Contemplating the outline of my English paper,” she deadpans.

He huffs against her throat. “Cute.”

“I know how to make two things,” she tells him seriously. “Pancakes, and mini pizzas out of French bread. I figured pancakes were preferable for breakfast.”

“What have you been surviving on?”

“I’m a college student,” she laughs. “Takeout. Lots of takeout.”

He goes quiet for a moment, and part of her worries that he’s overthinking their… situation. She digs her elbow softly into his side in a teasing gesture to draw him out of his own head.

“Guess you’re just going to have to cook for me,” she tells him.

“Hm.” There's a smile in his voice. “I definitely don’t know how to make mini pizzas out of French bread.”

She heaves a theatrical sigh. “Well, I suppose I’ll find a way to manage.”

One large hand curls around her hip to squeeze there, his face turning until his lips press at her throat for a brief moment before he pulls away. He’s settling at the little island behind her when she turns to start whisking everything together—her eyes roaming over his bare shoulders and his wide chest as he studies her quietly with his chin against his fist, peering back at her from behind his glasses that look only _slightly_ askew. As if he’s still too sleepy to fix them. 

He really is just so _adorable._

“We should probably talk about… what this will mean,” Ben starts. “Going forward.”

“Yeah?”

She sees a bit of pink at the tips of his ears that peek out of his mussed hair. “That is… if you still want to… you know.” He averts his gaze with a pursed mouth. “ _Do_ this.”

She sets her bowl of batter on the counter, smiling a little as she crosses around it. He turns on the stool just in time for her to settle between his spread legs—her hands bracing against his bare thighs just below the hem of his boxer briefs and her mouth covering his. She feels his fingertips grazing over her waist from above the fabric of her t-shirt, tentative as her tongue teases his lower lip.

She gives it a playful nip after. “I sort of like you in my bed, Professor.”

She’s rewarded with a soft groan in his throat as his hands circle around to pull her closer, palms sliding over her lower until they can curl at her ass.

“We’ll have to be careful,” he tells her. “We can’t act too familiar on campus.”

She grins against his cheek before she pecks a kiss there. “So no grabbing your ass in the hallways?”

He gives _her_ ass a rough squeeze that makes her yelp. “No, none of that.”

“I can be careful,” she assures him. “No one is going to find out.”

“It’s not just my job I’m worried about,” he says. “It would not be good for _you_ either. I couldn’t live with myself if I somehow—”

“ _Ben,”_ she interrupts sharply as she pushes back to look him in the eyes. “It’s going to be _fine._ No one is going to find out, I promise.”

Ben still looks wary, and she reaches to cup his jaw as her thumbs slide back and forth there. 

“Look, Ben,” she sighs. “I’m not stupid. I know how reckless this whole thing is. I _know_ how bad it would be for _both_ of us if we slip up. I really do. I knew the risks when I chased after you, I just—” Her brow knits as she gives a little shrug of her shoulders. “I just… wanted you anyway.”

His fingers curl tight around her hips as his throat bobs with a swallow, and it’s light, the little tug he gives her—but she’s already leaning anyway, her lips finding his until she’s melting into it, until she sort of forgets everything else.

It’s soft at first, just an exploration, a gentle seeking—but with every passing second his mouth gets more insistent, his tongue the same. Her fingers slide into his hair to tug it softly, and his hands down the entirety of her waist now as he holds her as close as she can be from where she’s still standing between his legs.

His fingers clutch at the fabric of her t-shirt until it’s bunching in his hands—an eagerness there that speaks of his newness to this, or maybe just to his _need_ of her. 

It’s one more thing she likes about Ben Solo.

Rey has never really felt _needed_ before. 

He’s holding her so tight that she knows she would most likely stumble were he to let go given that she’s practically molded to him—but she can’t seem to pull away. Not with the way he’s touching her. Not with the way his lips chase after hers.

“You know,” he murmurs a little hoarsely even as he kisses at the corner of her mouth. “My knowledge of pancakes is admittedly limited, but I seem to recall reading that you should let the batter rest for a little while before making them.”

Her lips curl against his. “Oh, yeah?”

“I just want the full experience,” he manages breathily.

She lets her fingers trail down his thighs until she lifts them away to cover his hands with hers, pulling them from her waist to lace her fingers through his as she slowly backs away from the chair to drag him along with her. His lips still move against hers even when he rises to his full height to tower over her, and he does _tower_ , much to her delight—kissing her with increasing urgency as he backs her into the area of her bedroom until her calves hit the mattress.

And he’s still kissing her when she shuffles up the mattress, when he crawls over her to press her into it—tongue tracing at her lower lip before it delves inside and hips tilting to press his already-hard cock against her center as he thrusts there lightly.

He stills when she winces at the stiff length of him catching just right between her folds through her underwear, pulling up his head to frown at the soft sound she makes.

“Are you okay?”

She blows out a little breath. “I’m fine. Just…”

He cocks his head. “What?”

“I mean, you’re sort of _huge_ ,” she laughs. “My poor vagina is a little sore.”

The grin that creeps across his face can only be called _adorable_ —like a schoolboy who’s just been offered praise for a job well done.

Rey rolls her eyes playfully. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

His eyes flick down the length of her as his teeth tug softly at his lower lip, his eyes darkening a little as he shifts above her with an unspoken question in his expression.

“What if I—” He presses his lips together nervously. “Maybe I could—”

She reaches to push a stray tendril of hair out of his eyes. “Maybe you could…?”

“I could… do what you did.” There's a flush creeping up his neck to bleed into his cheeks, making her heart pound a little harder with how sweet it is. “In my office.”

Her mouth quirks. “You want to go down on me?”

“I…” His cheeks redden considerably now. “I’ve never… done that… so I might not be any good, but maybe if you tell me what you—”

Her hands wrap around his neck to pull him down to her mouth—her lips curled against his as she kisses away his insecurity. His body settles a little more heavily over hers as he melts into it, and Rey presses her knee against his hip as she parts her thighs a little wider in invitation.

Her grin widens as his forehead rests against hers, his glasses pressing into her skin. “I’ll teach you anything you want, Professor.”

He pushes up on his hands as he lets his eyes roam down the front of her—her arms falling to rest beside her head on the pillows as she watches him assess the best way to go about this. His hand curls at her hip to push her t-shirt up to bunch around her waist, his eyes fixating between her thighs to the pale blue lace there.

She can see how hard he is now, how his cock presses insistently against his underwear in a way that says he could very easily fuck her again right now—and she likes that despite this, he looks eager to stay on course, to focus only on showing _her_ pleasure. His fingers tuck under the thin material at her hips to start working her underwear down her thighs, and she lifts up to aid him until he can pull it all away. 

Her breath catches when his hand slides between her legs so his thumb can pet at her piercing, touching it gently, as if exploring. “It doesn’t hurt?”

“No,” she assures him. “As long as you don’t pull it too hard.”

He never tears his eyes away as he maneuvers down the bed—situating himself between her thighs as he continues to tease the little piercing, familiarizing himself with it. 

“You’re so _pretty_ here,” he breathes. The pad of his thumb strokes down the length of her slit before it applies a slight pressure to her opening, and his eyes flick up to meet hers when her breath catches in response. “Tell me what to do.”

She tilts her hips up until she can bend her knees to let her feet rest against the mattress—baring more of her cunt to his sight until his mouth hovers only inches away. She lets her fingers tease over her belly below her bunched t-shirt until she can spread them through her folds, making a deliberate circle around her clit as Ben watches eagerly. 

“It feels best here,” she tells him, making sure not to actually touch. She wants _him_ to do that. “Like I told you last night.”

He bats her hand out of the way until his finger rests against the little button of her clit, his mouth parted in quiet concentration as he rolls it beneath the pad of his finger gently. “So pretty,” he murmurs. He leans in slightly before he peeks up at her in question, lingering _just there_ without actually touching her. “Can I…?”

She laughs breathily even as a warmth starts to pool low in her abdomen. “I’ve wanted your mouth on me since I first saw you.”

“Oh.” 

His lips clench together in thought as he considers this, and then there’s a barely-there sort of smile as if marveling at the idea of it. Someone as big and as hot as he is shouldn’t be so fucking _adorable_ , she thinks. It’s almost not even fair. 

He reaches suddenly to pull his glasses away, folding the stems together in an action that probably shouldn’t make her stomach flutter but does all the same, tossing them gently across her bed to let them land on the other side before he returns his attention to where she wants it most. His breath is warm against her when he closes the distance, his finger dragging down through her folds before it teases at her entrance so he can bring his mouth the rest of the way. 

The first press of his tongue is light, almost nothing—the tip of it dipping into the wet center of her only to drag up the length of her slit. Rey shivers all the same with the sensation, biting at her lower lip as she rests her head back against the pillows, letting her fingers curl at the edges of them to hold on, to keep herself from seeking more. She wants to let him do this at his own pace. 

She gives a sharp inhale when he does it again, adding a little more pressure as if growing bolder, and Rey finds herself nodding softly to herself as one large hand curls under her thigh to hold her further apart. “Tell me”—he makes a satisfied sound in his throat as he kisses at the crease where her thigh meets her pelvis—“what feels good. I want to make you come like this.”

“Mm.” She lets her fingers shove into his hair, combing it back from his face as she holds it lightly in her fist. “You can tease me a little. Use your whole tongue.” She lets her other hand dip between her thighs to let a finger trace up one side of her cunt to crest over her clit before stroking down the other side. “Lick around my clit, but don’t touch it right away.”

He leans in, following the path of her finger as the tip of his tongue _just_ touches the hood of her clit before it delves down the other side, making her breath catch. 

“Just like that,” she breathes. “Use your fingers too. Inside.”

She feels the press of one thick finger at her entrance, feels it slip inside slowly to fill her as her mouth parts and her eyes flutter closed. 

“You can give me another,” she urges, feeling his nerves much the same as she did last night, feeling the way he thinks he can mess this up. “I can take more. Your dick is so much bigger anyway.”

“ _Fuck.”_

She feels the word reverberate against her, and she whimpers involuntarily as his breath huffs warm and heavy there. He gives her another trace of his tongue in the way she showed him, a little faster this time, quickly adding a second finger inside as he starts to pump them in and out. 

_“Yes,”_ she hisses. “Like that _.”_

He hums against her cunt as he tries out a broad lick up the center of her, and she can’t help the way she tilts her hips to meet his mouth when he does it again. 

“You can play with the piercing,” she tells him breathily. “Suck on it a little.”

He groans as he curls his tongue around it gently, toying with it in a way that sets off little sparks in her clit before he gives it a soft pull that makes her cry out. 

A sound that Ben completely misreads.

“I’m sorry!” He pulls his head away. “Was that too hard?”

“ _Fuck,_ no,” she half-growls. “Feels good. Don’t stop.”

His eyes widen even as they grow a little darker, his fingers still deep inside her as he looks from her face down to her cunt where he gives a deliberate stroke there. She can see the way his lips are wet with her, and she feels close to begging with the way her cunt throbs around his fingers. 

“Don’t stop,” she whispers again. “It feels really fucking good.”

There’s that adorable tilt to one side of his mouth, like he can’t _actually_ believe that he could make her feel this way—and it makes her stomach swoop with sensation even as he ducks his head to give an open-mouthed kiss over her clit, gaining obvious confidence from her praise. She grits her teeth against the pleasure of it when his tongue again curls around the little hoop at her clit to suck at it softly, realizing all at once that she was _more_ than right about Ben’s mouth.

It was absolutely _made_ to eat pussy.

“Oh. _Oh.”_ She bites down at her lower lip _hard_ when he gives an experimental suck to pull her clit deeper into his mouth, still tonguing at her piercing to make her squirm. “ _Just like that.”_

He makes a soft sound in his throat as he pushes his fingers deep, pulling at her clit only to release it with a wet sound as he draws in a ragged breath. 

“I like how you taste,” he tells her roughly. He looks down to watch as he pumps his fingers in and out of her. “I like how wet you get. And so _tight.”_ He grinds his fingers deep as she gasps with it. “Your”—he pauses for only a moment before his whispered voice barrels on—“ _pussy_ is fucking _perfect,_ Rey.”

She hums in content as he lowers to kiss at her clit again, licking around it before he sucks it into his mouth. “You don’t have anything to compare it to,” she laughs breathily.

He gives her piercing another soft tug before he swirls his tongue there. “Don’t need to,” he murmurs against her, his fingernails biting into her thigh. “Don’t _want_ to.” Her belly gives another fluttering swoop as his eyes peer up at her from between her legs, hooded and dark. “Fucking _perfect.”_

She feels herself contract around his fingers, clamping down in response to his praise, and her breath rushes over her tongue in a gasp only to be blown out just as quickly when he holds her thighs open wide before he dives back in to put to use everything she’s shown him. 

It’s a little messy, the way he moves his face to use his nose and his lips and his tongue to lick at the wet crease of her, to suck softly at her clit before it becomes decidedly less soft—but still Rey feels liquid heat pooling low in her belly. It spreads through her limbs like a creeping pressure that winds her up tight, her hips beginning to rock as if of their own accord to meet everything his tongue is doing, to try and seek a little _more._

“Right there,” she breathes. “ _Fuck._ Right there.”

He groans against her as his teeth pull gently at her piercing, releasing it instantly to suction his lips mercilessly against her clit, no longer showing any signs of letting go. Every pull draws out another wave of building pressure, of rising pleasure—and after only moments Rey feels her breathing growing shorter and shorter, still murmuring instruction and praise that grows less sensical by the second. 

_“Yes, Ben_ —use your—Oh, God, your mouth is— _so close_ —keep doing that—I just need—”

His spine curls as his face presses as close to her center as it can possibly be, and Rey gasps brokenly as her eyes shut tight, as her back arches and her fingers curl in his hair and the pillow above her head, trying to keep from floating away, something her body feels dangerously close to. 

It happens with Ben’s low moan, the vibration of it pushing her over the edge even as his lips pull voraciously at her clit, as his tongue keeps her piercing taut to prolong the sensation—and her body shakes and her insides tremble, feeling the way she gets impossibly wetter, the way she practically gushes against his mouth. Ben keeps going even as she tries to pull him away, suctioned to her in a way that has her whimpering for relief, feeling nearly to the point of bursting as wave after wave crashes over her to leave her boneless and spent. 

He doesn’t release her until she gives his hair a sharp tug, coming away short of breath as he stares back at her with wild eyes and a wet mouth. She claws at his arms until he takes the hint and crawls over her, slanting his mouth against hers in a wet kiss that has her tasting herself, something that only makes her flush warmer.

She wastes no time in shoving his underwear away to wrap her fingers around the steely length of his cock, feeling the head of it slide against her navel to leave a sticky trail as she starts to work him without pretense or buildup. She can already feel the way he throbs a little in her hand, feels the way he tilts his hips to thrust into her fist as she draws back the soft skin encasing the head again and again. He kisses her greedily as she pumps his cock with purposeful strokes against her stomach, wanting to get him there quickly. 

He whimpers into her mouth when she gives him a soft squeeze, when he starts actively thrusting to meet her every stroke—his tongue petting at hers as she works him faster, _harder_ —enjoying the soft slide of his foreskin against her palm even as it grows wet with his precome that streams steadily from the tip to make a mess. 

She can hear the way he’s close in the soft sounds he’s making that come more and more frequently, broken groans and sharp breaths as his mouth goes slack against hers and his body shakes against hers. 

He doesn’t say a word as he starts to come all over her stomach, the hot splash of it pooling in the little crease of her belly and her navel and surely making a mess of the hem of her t-shirt that is still only haphazardly bunched up near her ribs—and through it all she continues to stroke him lazily, making him tremble in her grasp even as his cock goes a little softer. She presses her palm over the top of it to hold it against her stomach as he thrusts languidly against the mess he’s made, still breathing raggedly against her mouth as he struggles to catch his breath. 

“I came on you,” he rasps, tucking his face into her throat. “I’m sorry.”

She keeps her palm against the top of his cock, teasing her fingers through the wet mess at her stomach on the other side of it as she kisses his cheek. “I liked it.”

“I… did too,” he admits quietly.

She grins against his cheek. “A lot of firsts for Professor Solo.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles hoarsely. “I don’t know if I can survive many more.”

“Oh, somehow I doubt that.”

She doesn’t tell him how oddly happy it makes her to be the one he’s working through so many firsts with—thinking to herself that it would be an odd thing to say and keeping it tucked away to herself. Even if she’s thinking it. 

She gives his cheek another quick kiss. “In fact,” she says, “I was thinking considering the mess you made… it might be an excellent time to cross _showering with someone_ off the list.”

He pulls away to look down at her, cocking an eyebrow. “How am I supposed to shower without distraction if you’re in there with me all… wet.” His eyes dip down the length of her. “And naked.”

Her lips curl. “Who says there won’t be distractions?”

He gives her that same shy, adorable smile that she’s starting to get addicted to—his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Maybe I could survive a _few_ more things.”

She’s still smiling when he lowers to kiss her slowly, softly, knowing that when they leave this room things will be less easy than they are now, that no matter how much they like each other, the days following this one will be more difficult, more cautious. She _absolutely_ knows that, despite the cavalier way she’s pursued him leading up to this point. 

She just doesn’t care, really. 

She just thinks Ben Solo might be sort of worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk guys apparently all I know how to write is porn now thank god I turned down that job at my local newspaper wouldn’t that be disastrous

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> 


End file.
